


Some Day, One Day

by Shirli



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Band Fic, Cute Brian May, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, London, Music, Musicians, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-01-20 21:03:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 185,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18533113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirli/pseuds/Shirli
Summary: A Brian May romance.1973 begins as an ordinary year for you, a twenty-something girl living in London.  While your days see you grudgingly undertaking your postgraduate biology work at Imperial College, your nights reveal a different side of you; you're a singer, the only female in a rock band full of boys, hoping to make an impression, and playing music is all you dream about.  Things start to change for you all when, by complete chance, you become friends with another local rock group on the scene, a popular group called Queen.  Little do you know that this new connection will plant the seeds for an incredible adventure filled with music, true friendship, and an unexpected love.





	1. You've Never Heard My Song Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Queenies! Just to let you know:
> 
> This fanfic is ongoing, and I will be uploading new chapters pretty regularly, as I'm consistently working on it. I'm attempting to keep it as historically accurate as possible to the real story of Queen, especially as it begins in their pre-fame days. I've done a LOT of research to make it as close to the truth as I can get it, so that hopefully, you lovely readers will have as accurate an experience of knowing what it was really like as possible. The only thing that has been altered is that Chrissy Mullen does not feature, due to the reader's involvement with Brian. Everything else is hopefully exactly as it was! I really hope I can adequately put you back into the 70's to experience Queen first hand, and also have your own story going on alongside them!

January of 1973 is no ordinary month in the ongoing ramble of life; it’s the month that, unbeknownst to you yet, will set off a year of adventure, emotion, excitement, and ultimately, amazing and life-changing music. London is awash with snow, the kind of liquid slush that bombards the tops of your shoes every time you step off the pavement’s edge. It’s a place where music thrives, where some of the most important albums and songs of all time sprang from; The Beatles, David Bowie, The Who. ‘Hey Jude’, ‘Ziggy Stardust’, ‘My Generation’. It’s where everybody goes just before they sky-rocket to stardom. Little do the record labels and unsuspecting music fans know that there is one more band, yet little-known, making waves under the surface of the underground scene, tearing away at it’s thinnest edges, ready to make their stand. One band that could square up to the masters, equal them, maybe even surpass them all… and you’re going to be a part of it all.

The wallpaper peels slightly at the corners of the room, curling back in small circles. The muddy brown carpet is scuffed and worn in patches, especially around the doorway, where an uncountable number of people have trodden before. Your footsteps clunk along the hall rhythmically as you walk through the familiarity, a smile growing steadily on your face as you near your destination; a wooden stage stands dutifully against the far wall, holding up with a military sense of pride underneath the weight of the drum kit and guitar amps. Instruments recline nonchalantly against chairs and pieces of equipment, taking the slow, deep breath before the plunge.

“Oi!” a loud voice jabs cheekily, and it catches your attention, snapping your view upwards towards its owner.

“If we’re gonna blast out a full practice in less than an hour, we’d better get a move on!”

The boy’s wavy hair wafts across his face, and then jerks back again as he tosses it away, grinning. You return the smirk, jumping up onto the stage and taking your place, grasping the microphone firmly in your right hand; it feels cool, comforting, right. As you press your lips up to its uneven surface, it sends an excitable shiver down your whole body.

“Alright fellas,” you announce into the mic, “let’s go!”

After the usual count-in from the drummer, the five of you raise up onto your toes in anticipation, and then slam into a satisfyingly ear-buzzing barrage of sound; two guitars hum roughly, one belting out rhythmic, coarse tones while the other slides around higher up the neck in harmony. The bass bounces between notes with flourish and style. The drums lift the music up and send it whizzing with intensity and groove. With the steady support of them all, there’s only one thing you can do – open your eager mouth and sing your heart out.

You’re a London girl, still in your early 20's and pursuing postgraduate studies at London Imperial College, but outside the world of academia, you’re something of a singer. As the sole female presence in a band otherwise full of boys, you’re the spectacle of your show – an ambitious five-piece group performing what you hope is an exciting combination of Rock And Roll, psychedelic rock, and just about anything else that sounds good. Progressive rock is the new term nowadays, flouting the old fashioned rules of 3-minute radio songs, strict structures and straight-laced appearances; it’s what you aim to emulate. There are quite a few bands around that are similar to you, you suppose, except your female vocals seem to set you apart from your fellow groups; it’s certainly a shock to the system in a genre dominated by men. Girls can spin around and twirl their hair and sing cutesy ballads, but that’s not what you’re here for. You know how glorious it makes you feel when you listen to real, gritty, powerful rock music, so why the heck should you have to fall by the wayside while boys take the limelight? You’ve got every right to get up there and belt it to the masses, and you give it all you’ve got in the hope that maybe one day, you and your band will get to cut a real record and make something truly great, something that could be heard by thousands.

Resurfacing from the reverie of getting lost in the performance, you pull your attention back to the room around you as you sing; the shabby familiarity looks just as it should, plain and full of the stains, scrapes and scuffs of so many local bands’ rehearsals. Out of place, however, is the sudden presence that announces itself; a small group of young men are standing in the far doorway, watching the band with light curiosity, nodding and talking, obviously in reference to you and the boys. When there’s a break in the vocals of the song you’re playing, you turn to whoever is closest to you – the bassist – who also seems to have noticed them. He raises his eyebrows and mouths under the music “they must have booked the room after us.” Wondering momentarily if you’ve run over your allotted time slot, you turn back to face the doorway while distractedly voicing the notes that spark off the final section of the song. There’s only one boy there now; the others must have gone to bring the rest of their equipment, or check with the venue owner to make sure they’d got there at the right time, probably coming back at any moment with official permission to gently kick you out. The first thing you notice about this boy is his huge amount of hair; thick, black and curled to frame his articulate features, stretching to nestle against the material of his shirt. It’s completely impossible not to look at. He’s also quite tall, which only adds to his conspicuous appearance. He leans behind the door frame, slightly out of the room, as though shy about watching you. Hearing the end of the song approaching, you turn your back on the scene to watch your boys whack out the last few chords with meaning, and there’s smiles all round when it’s done.

“Amazing,” the wavy-haired lead guitarist exudes, with no modesty whatsoever. “I swear we get a million times better with every practice.”

“Steady there, Harry,” you shoot back in a playful tone, “don’t go getting ahead of yourself! We don’t need the situation getting jinxed before Friday!”

Harry lifts his guitar from his shoulders in a swift movement and proceeds to poke you in the side childishly, and the room fills with quiet chuckles. The five of you have a gig in a small club across town on Friday, and the fact that you seem over-practised, if anything, only makes you more confident about it. Before you can kid around any more, a well-spoken, gentle voice calls across the room, and its debonair tone causes sudden familiarity to rush back to you.

“Excuse me darlings, can we come and set up now? It’s just past the hour.”

You all swivel on the spot to look once more at the doorway, which now holds all four boys again. The one who’d spoken is the one you recognise immediately, especially now that you’re no longer distracted by your performance, and it dawns on you who they are; probably the best band in your local London underground music scene is Queen, a four-piece who perform similar music to yourself, but with a heck of a lot more pomp, theatre, and majesty, hence the name. Freddie, the soft-spoken singer, had come up with it; in fact, he came from art school, and designed costumes for the band before he even joined it, from what you’ve heard. He also originally came from Zanzibar, which everyone finds frightfully exotic and exciting, and he seems to be a friend to everyone, flitting around with anyone who needs a helping hand or a giggly chat. With his long black hair, carefully placed make-up and always striking attire, he’s quite the frontman. You haven’t had any personal encounters with him yourself until now, or any of the Queen members, in fact, but their prowess and visual uniqueness has gained them something of a reputation. Their band originally had a different line-up, one you can’t quite remember, except that Mr. Hair had been in it, though his name slips your mind. The drummer, blonde, slim Roger, had apparently left another band that were actually doing quite well to join Queen instead, which surprises you, but you suppose musicians will do what they will. You’re not sure what the other boy with the brown hair and slightly guarded expression is called, but you do know he’s a pretty new member. You’ve seen Queen a couple of times around London, and from what you’ve seen and heard, they’re not half bad at all, admittedly better than your own band by miles. Their songs seem to go on forever with a million transitions from hard rock to ballad, to blues, to theatrical music you’re not even sure what to call... It’s all a very grandiose stage show too, with their well-made, androgynous outfits and Freddie’s expressive dancing. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got a record deal over you.

“Of course,” you call across the room to Freddie’s request, “come on in! Sorry we ran over!”

“That’s not a problem dear,” he says with a delicate smile as the other Queen boys filter into the room, carrying their equipment, “you were sounding rather nice actually.”

You find yourself blushing a little at the compliment.

“Thanks,” you mumble, hoping your embarrassment doesn’t show, before adding honestly “we’re nothing on you lot though.”

Freddie sends the praise spinning with an over-exaggerated huff, but in his eyes, you can see that he’s flattered too.

“Anyway, you go ahead and get set up,” you urge, “we’re practised enough that we’ll be alright.”

Freddie gains an inquisitive look, asking “preparing for a show?”

You nod with a little pride. “On Friday, at the Whiskey A Go Go.”

“On Wardour Street?”

“The very same!”

Freddie seems mildly impressed, announcing “we’ve played there quite a few times, you know. I hope we haven’t been on the same bill and not realised… gosh! That would be embarrassing!” His almost naive social-situation-gone-wrong horror makes you giggle.

“Well, we’ll let you get on with it then,” you say, and Freddie’s quick to reply.

“Alright, but now that I’ve had a little taste of your music, I’d quite like to see you play! What time are you performing on Friday?”

His interest in a group that most people would consider lower in social status than his surprises you, and you hope the excitement you’re feeling at the prospect doesn’t show too much on your face. They’re not exactly rockstars, but they are somewhat popular; it’s nice to see a humble group in an industry full of egos.

“9pm, and don’t worry, it’s cheap!” you reply, returning the smile that grows on Freddie’s face.

“Don’t you worry about suckering me in with prices, darling - I’ll be there! Let’s see if I can’t bring along a few friends too!” he adds, gesturing towards his bandmates.

Nodding happily, you bid your goodbyes, laughing, and go your separate ways. Your bandmates had already started taking their equipment outside and into your drummer’s van while you and Freddie had been talking, not wanting to delay Queen’s rehearsal any longer. Bringing the last of the things, you follow them out of the door and down the well-trampled corridor. However, just as you’re about to exit into the Wintry cold, a flustered voice suddenly calls from not too far behind you.

“Excuse me!”

You whip around in surprise, and become even more surprised when you see the curly-haired boy jogging to a halt in front of you.

“Erm,” he emits awkwardly, before holding up a guitar capo. “I think one of your guitarists forgot this.”

“Oh, right, thanks,” you reply with a short smile, taking it from him, and he smiles back, seeming a little nervy, for some reason you aren’t sure of.

“Right,” he utters pointlessly with a stunted grin, “see you.”

You barely manage to open your mouth to reply before he scuttles back to his bandmates quickly, leaving you slightly baffled as you head for the van. What a shy and curious bloke. And you still don’t know his name.


	2. Now I Think You Hear Me Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for your band's gig at Whiskey A Go Go, and the five of you can't wait! But will Freddie actually come to see you, as promised?

Friday has soon come around, relatively quickly, but at the same time slowly, due to your band’s collective excitement. The Whiskey A Go Go is a great place to play, popular with the university crowd and having hosted some really great bands, so you’re all incredibly pleased to have landed a slot there. Wanting to make the most of this lucky strike, you’ve been giving your bandmates pep talks left, right and centre, adamant that you’re going to make a good impression that will hopefully stick. You’re always on the lookout for new opportunities, and thankfully, London is probably the most thriving place in the UK for them.

“My God,” Tom, your bassist, exclaims quietly, gazing around at all of the framed photographs on the walls of the place of the acts that have played there, “it’s like the bloody Cavern in here!” You give a loud snort of amusement.

“Calm down mate, we’re not The Beatles!”

“Ah, but we could be,” Harry interjects from across the room as he fetches equipment to the stage, and you and Tom laugh at the statement, rolling your eyes incredulously.

“No we couldn’t,” you bark back, “NO ONE can be The Beatles, or anything remotely like! Did you not notice how they pretty much dominated the entire world for about eight years? Even now they’re gone, people are still rabbiting on about them, and they all have solo careers to boot.”

Harry seems thoroughly shut up, and you smirk.

“And anyway, it doesn’t make sense as a comparison,” you add, “we’re completely different music. We’ll just have to be us, and hope that we become the next big thing.”

The five of you share a fond smile for a moment, your relentless positivity evidently hitting the mark somewhere, and then Harry breaks the silence in his usual tactless manner.

“Alright mardy, just trying to keep a positive outlook!”

His brash need to end the delicate moment is so typical of him, and it makes you laugh, sincerely glad that he’s there, stepping across the wooden floor to draw him into a hug.

“And that’s all we need,” you reply, vindicating his ambition, “positivity, passion and practice.”

“The three P’s.”

“Yeah!”

The half silly, half serious camaraderie is brought to a close by Tom clapping Harry on the back, joking “right, that’s enough sentimental stuff, let get a move on!”

Emitting giggles, you all comply, getting on with setting up your equipment on the stage, which is just big enough to hold all five of you. To your collective joy, the slot you’d managed to secure tonight is a headline spot, with a slightly smaller local band in support, and you couldn’t be more excited about it; it feels like a small victory for the band. Your soundcheck goes well, and before you know it, time has ticked away until you’re standing at the back of the room watching your support act, along with the small crowd that has gathered so far. They’re not bad; a four-piece of college students, they’re playing a more traditional style of rock, a lot more standard and ‘poppy’ than your music, but it’s certainly listenable.

“I hope it gets busier than this for when we’re on,” Charlie, your drummer, expresses from behind you, to which you turn and face him, replying “I’m sure it will. It’s Whiskey A Go Go; people love it here almost regardless of who’s playing!”

He seems satisfied, nodding, and you turn back to the band, only to be interrupted again seconds later.

“What drink do you want before we go on?” Harry yells from across the room, and you reply simply “water!”, deciding to stay professional and preserve your voice, rather than strain it with alcohol. He then beckons you over to help carry the drinks, as he appears to have bought some for the whole band.

“How long is it ‘til we’re on?” you enquire, and he fumbles with his sleeve to reveal his watch before informing “just about 25 minutes. Can you give this one to Dave?” He nods towards a pint of bitter in front of his full hands.

Dave is the other guitarist in your band, in charge of the rhythm section, and after a moment’s casting around, you spy him lingering at the back of the room near the toilets, watching the band with a faint look of enjoyment. You skirt around the small pockets of people scattered around to get to him, handing over his drink, to which he grins heartily and takes a healthy swig.

“Excited?”

You shoot him back a confident expression that needs no spoken answer.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it. How’s your voice?”

“Fine,” you reply honestly, “I’ve been looking after it, so there’s no reason I can’t be belting out the high notes!”

Dave grins again, stating “looking forward to it,” before gorging on his pint and turning his attention back to the band on stage, who are now in the middle of a not-too-bad cover of a Small Faces song.

It doesn’t seem like long since you began to stand there, watching the band and sipping your water absent-mindedly, sharing scattered conversation with bandmates and club-goers alike, before the support band introduce their last song, which signals your cue to go backstage and get ready; not long now until showtime. It turns out ‘backstage’ is less glamorous than it sounds, no more than a large cupboard in fact, but you’re grateful for anything you can get, and to be honest, the sillier the gig, the better stories you get out of it. You and the band will certainly be laughing as you recall practically having to sit on each other’s knees to fit the five of you in the room at once, sitting and standing so close, you might as well attach yourselves. Charlie drums on his knees with his battered sticks, boasting great timing and precision, and Harry, Tom and Dave jiggle on the spot, stretching and flexing their wrists and fingers in preparation for the workout looming on the horizon. You sit among the throng of the four of them as their growing energy and excitement bounces around the tiny room, gulping your water and emitting sounds of varying pitch and volume, testing your throat’s responses.

“Oh shit,” Harry suddenly mutters at your noises, realising that he has yet to warm up his vocal cords for the backing vocals he’s soon to provide, and joins in, although somewhat yelling comedically, causing amusement to creep into both of your voices.

One of the club’s staff members then enters the room, bringing the pre-gig rituals to an end, to inform with an encouraging expression “time to go on, everyone. Good luck!” You all nod and share giddy looks among each other, the adrenaline for what is about to happen beginning to course through your veins.

“Bit nervous,” Tom admits, and you shoot back quickly “don’t be, it’s gonna be great. I’m not scared.”

“Me neither,” Harry adds strongly, and you look at him with agreement. The pair of you have always been a certain type of confident and headstrong; it’s one of the reasons you click so well, and you both secretly admire each other strongly for it. “Okay, let’s get the hell out there!”

Taking deep breaths, you walk out onto the stage, and are met with a cheer that’s not exactly incredible, but loud enough to make butterflies grow tangibly in your stomach; the crowd has indeed grown since you were watching the support act, just as Charlie had hoped. Mentally donning your onstage confident persona, you greet the audience with a huge smile.

“Hello lads and ladies,” you address over the mic, and your voice has that typical, odd tone people always seem to get when they talk over small club PAs. “Are you ready to have some fun?”

There’s a collective “yeah” from the crowd, and you check over your shoulders to make sure the band are in position and ready to begin, which they are, nodding back to you with smiles.

“Okay, this song’s a dancer, I wanna see all of you moving!”

Charlie counts you all in, just like every rehearsal during the build up to this show, and the second that first all-powerful chord is struck, you’re consumed, no longer in the room with all of these strangers, but in an internal reverie world where all you need to survive is music; the magnificent sounds of the song seem to give you life, and as you feed it with your singing in return, you fuel it’s power, an entrancing ever-flowing circle. Thoroughly enjoying the moment, you realise you’ve done your usual trick of losing awareness of the crowd and their reactions, so as the song marches towards it’s end, you make a point of scanning the bodies in front of you; yes, they seem to be liking it. Some of them are simply nodding in enjoyment, some of them leaning in to their partners and talking about you with smiles, pointing at different band members. Satisfied, you focus yourself, sending your voice soaring as the band bring the song to its thumping end, and it hits just the right spot; the crowd cheer and applaud with satisfying volume, and it pastes instant smiles onto all five of your faces.

“Thank you London!”

Taking the moment between songs to gaze around at the interest you’ve created, your eyes bob from face to face until they land on one that looks familiar; Freddie kept his promise. He stands right by the doorway, obviously having just arrived in from the Winter freeze, looking cold but impeccably dressed as always, and he’s brought company; Roger unwinds his scarf from around his neck, looking thankful for the warmth of the club, and eyes the bar, nudging Freddie, who seems to agree that a drink is next on the cards. Then one more figure enters from the rain and wind to stand and gaze with curiosity from behind Freddie; lo and behold, the awkward curly-haired boy. He’s probably the last person you’d expected to come, probably because of the way he was so unavoidably timid a few days ago. He doesn’t really look like he’s made for social situations. Thinking about it, it surprises you that he performs so well with Queen, but music, as you know, is a powerful thing. Snapping your attention back to the task at hand, you attempt to rile up the audience again and signal the boys to start the next song, eager to impress not only the crowd you’ve managed to gather tonight, but the Queen boys too.

The gig passes by so much more quickly than you’d wished for, but that’s always the way with a good gig. You were right to be confident, as you’re all on great form, and you find yourself being able to bring out the deeper and higher notes of your register with enough ease to be proud of, for your level of vocal prowess. From what you can tell, the crowd have quite enjoyed the night and have been consistently engaged from the beginning, which is always rewarding, and what’s more, your new buddy Freddie and his little entourage barely took their eyes off you the whole night, which must be a good thing! When your set of 45 minutes is over, you all take a group bow and thank the crowd, and you add to the sense of occasion by waving and blowing over-exaggerated kisses to them, which raises some chuckles. Tottering back to the ‘cupboard’ to collapse with happy exhaustion, the five of you take a few moments to get your breath back before giving sweaty high fives, framed with laughter.

“That was great,” Tom exudes, “you two were right - we had no need to be nervous at all!”

You struggle to control your grin for a little while as you nod in agreement, stating “that’s probably the best we’ve ever played.”

After a short period of rest, you all decide that drinks are needed to stave off your post-performance thirst, so you collect money and beer orders from the boys and head out to the bar. Reeling off the drinks to the closest bartender, you exhale in satisfaction to yourself; it’s been a good night. Harry appears at your side, smiling, and lightly punches your arm affectionately.

“Well done, by the way,” he says with earnest, “I don’t think you know how good your voice is.” It makes you blush, especially as he’s rarely serious like this, and he reaches out for a hug, which you fall into with a laugh.

“Well your soloing skills are pretty damn good too,” you reply, “you should do more of them. I’m sure the audience won’t mind a 12 minute epic, it’s all the rage now.”

He laughs gruffly, and as you pay for the drinks, Harry grabs some to take back into the backstage ‘cupboard’. You’re about to take the rest in behind him, but before you can pick them up, an unexpected tap comes on your shoulder, followed by a voice you know too well.

“Well, what a show,” Freddie enthuses in greeting as you turn around, to which you can’t help but burst into an unabashed smile.

“I’m so glad you came, Freddie, I’m thrilled! We really enjoyed ourselves.”

“I could tell,” he says enthusiastically, “there was a great passion in that performance. Bravo, darling!”

His flamboyance makes you giggle, and before you can say anything else, Roger leans in from behind him and adds “yeah, really great show. You’ve got some good songs there. We might take some inspiration... maybe steal a few riffs!”

You gasp in mock horror and he shakes his head with a grin, adding needlessly “nah, only jokin’.”

“Well Roger, are you going to buy me another drink or what?” Freddie insists with a smile, “I did do your make-up, after all!”

Roger’s eyes roll dramatically before he agrees, shooting you an amused look before the pair of them take to the bar. And there we have it; just you and Mr Awkward. He’s already got a wide grin on his face that he seems to be trying to suppress unsuccessfully before he speaks.

“I suppose I just sound like a copycat now, but honestly, you were really great.” His voice comes quiet but firm enough, sounding somewhat vulnerable, but it’s half-hidden by some kind of determination. His eyes seem to twinkle with his honesty.

“Thanks, and you’re not a copycat,” you reply, “I can tell you mean it.”

“Yeah...”

There’s a few seconds of silence during which he’s visibly short of what to say, so you ask a question to get the conversation running again. You have to admit, you’re slightly curious about him.

“So if I remember correctly, you were in Queen before it was Queen, weren’t you?” His grin snaps back into place as he speaks again.

“Yeah, it was me and Roger, and a guy named Tim Staffell. I don’t know if you know him?”

You shake your head, not able to put a face to the name, but he fills you in.

“He went to the same college as Freddie,” he informs, his voice now louder and steadier with this familiar subject, “he was our bassist. We were called Smile.” Now that you hear it, the name rings a familiar bell somewhere in your head.

“Ah, that’s right! Yes, I saw you once back then, I’m sure of it! You had that song, um... ah... oh, I can’t remember what it’s called now.”

He exhales a short chuckle, looking unsurprised that you don’t remember, but determined to complete the puzzle in your head, you keep flipping through the pages of your mind until, to your pleasant surprise, it comes back to you.

“Oh! Wasn’t it something like ‘Doin’ All Right’?” He immediately displays a confounded expression, bursting into a huge smile and emitting a half-suppressed laugh before replying “yes! I can’t believe you remembered it!”

You share his happy expression, replying “well, it must have been a good song for it to stick in my head!” He momentarily lowers his gaze at this, looking a little embarrassed and saying nothing, so you continue your little interview. “So Tim left, or... got sacked?”

His pleased expression dissolves into a look of disdain, before he informs “yeah, he left, the rotter. Joined another band called Humpy Bong..?” You shake your head, bemused at the name and having never heard of them, and he shares a similar expression. “Well yeah, exactly. We had a record deal and everything.” You’re taken aback that someone would leave after something as monumental as that, and press for details. “We did record some songs,” he continues, “but they didn’t release them, and well, after Tim left, we were pretty much done for, so they dropped us. But I suppose it was worth it in the end, ‘cause we made great friends with Freddie through him, and we’re much better off now. I mean we aren’t signed or anything, but we’re...”

You decide to jump in with a little pun. “...Doin’ All Right?”

He giggles, and you can’t help but join him despite the fact it was your own joke. “Yeah, you could say that!”

After the laughter subsides, you both find yourself speechless again. It’s a little better now that you’ve broken the ice properly, and while he takes his bright eyes off you to glance around the room shyly for a moment, you find yourself beginning to like him, his awkwardness becoming less overpowering, though there’s something that’s still bothering you.

“Erm, I’m sorry but... I don’t think I know your name?”

When you speak, his gaze moves straight back to you, focusing on your mouth for a second rather than your eyes, his plentiful hair bouncing at his shoulders as he shifts in place.

“Oh, I’m Brian,” he replies, raising his eyebrows with surprise, “I – sorry, I should have said before.”

You smile, shaking your head to indicate that it doesn’t matter, and as you introduce yourself, you both become aware of your bandmates approaching the pair of you.

“Not drinking this?” Tom questions, thrusting your forgotten drink towards you, and you take it, a little embarrassed.

“Oh right, yeah. Guys, this is Brian.”

You don’t have to say anything else; your boys recognise him quickly and bombard him with handshakes and chat, and while he returns them politely, you find yourself feeling glad that you know him a little better now.

“So, what did you think of our lady’s scorchin’ vocals, eh?” Harry asks Brian loudly, swinging his arm around your shoulders and pulling you tightly to his side, to which you giggle.

Brian nods enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, lovely. Superb.”

You find your chest swelling with pride as he says so. Roger and Freddie turn to join the conversation, having gotten more drinks, and soon you all find yourselves in rapturous chat, marvelling at how easy it is for the eight of you to get on; the Queen boys are all gracious, warm and funny, and it’s not long before you’re getting along famously, almost like old friends. All too soon though, a waitress calls last orders from the bar, and it causes you all to break off the conversation and glance around; the place isn’t even half as full as it had been earlier. You must have been engrossed in getting to know each other for some time!

“Ah, I suppose we’d better get going,” Charlie suggests, and you all reluctantly agree, placing your empty glasses back at the bar.

“Make sure you bring John to hang out next time,” Tom tells the Queen lads, referring to their missing bandmate.

“Yes, absolutely,” Freddie responds, nodding. “It’s been a good old night, hasn’t it? We must get together again soon.”

“Well, tell us if you’ve got any gigs coming up,” you insist, “we’re all out at the moment.”

They promise that they will, and then bid their goodbyes, shaking the hands of the boys again. Freddie swoops in and pulls you up into a tight hug without any hesitation, which catches you off guard for a moment, but also makes you smile; he’s wonderfully flamboyant. For a moment, it makes you wonder if he’s actually gay, or just camp. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you; he’s a great person nonetheless. After Freddie departs towards the doorway, leaving the feminine scent of his perfume to waft along behind him, Roger leans in and gives you a much more casual and relaxed hug, saying “see you soon” with a wink. Then, noticing that the rest of your band have retreated back to the ‘cupboard’ to collect their things, you turn to face Brian, who seems to have snapped back to extreme awkwardness again, standing quite rigidly, his long, articulate fingers playing with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Erm, okay, well I’ll probably see you soon. Feel free to pop in on one of our rehearsals, since we’ve done it to you!”

“Yeah,” you say with a slight giggle at the memory, “okay. We should all get together again, maybe on a day I’m not at college.”

Brian appears inquisitive, asking “which college do you go to?” His eyebrows arch upwards once more in surprise when you tell him it’s London Imperial College you’re at. “Really? That’s where I study, too!”

“No way! How haven’t we met before, then?” you ask incredulously. London Imperial College is a science and technology focused institution, and while the students of each subject do tend to stick to their own class friendship groups, you know quite a few of the other subjects’ students vaguely just from seeing them around, usually enough to recognise their faces, at least.

Brian chuckles, sounding a little nervous as he does. “I don’t know! What subject do you do there?”

“Biology,” you inform him, trying not to let your distaste for your academic field of choice show, and it seems to go unnoticed, as Brian responds quickly.

“Oh, that’s funny – Roger did biology, but at a different college.” However, his gaze rests on yours for a moment, seeming to sense what you were trying to hide, as he adds “you don’t seem too happy about it though.”

You allow your façade to slip away, drooping your shoulders with a sigh before replying. “Yeah… it wasn’t exactly my first choice, to be honest. My mum really wants me to get a high-paying job, so she sort of pressured me into it. I think she wants me to work in medicine or something.”

Brian’s eyes settle into a knowing look at the mention of this. “Well I know all too well about things like that. My parents can’t wait for me to finish my thesis and get a good job in science.”

“What do you do, then?”

“I did my degree in physics, but I’m working on my doctorate at the moment. It’s um…” He drops his gaze to the side for a moment while he pauses, looking shy again. “…it’s in astrophysics.”

You aren’t sure why he seems so ashamed of his subject choice, as it sounds pretty impressive to you; you’ve never been that good at physics, and the realm of space is pretty alien to you, pardoning the pun.

“That’s really cool,” you enthuse, trying to convey your thoughts to him. “you must be really smart to understand all that!”

Brian immediately shakes his head in denial, his curls flailing wildly about him. When he responds, he doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

“No, not really. I don’t think I’m anything special when it comes to science.”

“Well you must be,” you press, “if you’re at doctorate level. I honestly don’t know why I’m still doing biology. Probably to keep my mum quiet! I’m not very good.”

This time, Brian’s the one to chide you for your lack of self esteem.

“That can’t be right. I used to know a couple of biology students, and if you’re on the same level as them, you must be pretty clever.”

You hadn’t meant to blush, but no one’s ever really complimented you like that when it comes to academia; the lecturers tend to just prattle on about what’s expected of you, and your mother only comments when she’s making sure you’re meeting said expectations. It’s not often you’re made to feel smart at much. It’s one of the reasons you get so much joy out of music over biology.

“Well thanks,” you say haltingly, still a bit surprised. Before either of you can say anything else, Charlie suddenly appears at your side, nudging you playfully while quipping “you two finished? They’ll kick us out at this rate!” When you realise he’s referring to the fact that the Whiskey A Go Go is about to close its doors for the night, you start a little and begin to patter towards the exit, Brian following suit with a laugh. Once outside, grimacing at the cold, you notice that while your bandmates are crowded around Charlie’s van, equipment packed away inside it, Freddie and Roger are nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry Brian, I think I’ve made you miss Roger and Freddie,” you say apologetically, and he shakes his head indicating that it doesn’t matter.

“Okay, well I’d best let you go and catch them up,” you say with a smile, and he returns it, adding “hopefully we’ll see each other again soon.” An idea, born from the conversation you’d just been having, strikes you.

“Maybe we could see each other in college? Have lunch together or something, if we’re free at the same time?” Brian seems momentarily overwhelmed by this; he has to make a visible effort to tone down his excited expression.

“Yeah, why not? “ he replies, feigning a more relaxed reaction. “I suppose I’ll see you around, then.”

“Okay,” you reply, feeling a little odd in the midst of this slightly weird moment, as Brian seems to wrestle with something in his mind. His smile widens a little, momentarily revealing quite pointed, angular teeth, and then he seems to struggle with his decision to either follow the other Queen boys’ example and give you a hug, or to just leave it at that. In the end, he just utters a quiet “bye” and skitters off down the street to catch up with Roger and Freddie, leaving you stumped again; what a nervous man. You wonder if there’s something about you that unnerves him, but thinking about it, he was a bit like that when your bandmates initially started talking to him. Perhaps he’s just a softie; not the smooth conversationalist that most students your age are. You get the feeling that he doesn’t have a huge amount of friends... maybe that’s why he seems so overjoyed when people actually like him? Whatever it is, you have to admit, he does baffle you a bit. God knows how he’ll act if you actually have lunch with him... but he seems nice. In fact, it makes you even more eager to get to know him better, to break through the nervy outer shell and get to know what he’s like on the inside.


	3. Funny How The Pages Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, the perspective of the story shifts to Brian's point of view, so that the reader can see things through his eyes for a short while. He's in the college library, up to his eyeballs in scientific papers and books in a desperate attempt to make some progress with his thesis, but it's not going very well. However, what was a gloomy morning ends up turning into a bright afternoon, after a new female friend appears to cheer him up.

(The story now shifts into Brian’s point of view.)

What time is it now? A quiet, disgruntled huff escapes you as you examine your watch again, realising that it’s not even been ten minutes since you last looked. Sitting in the hushed college library, a mass of borrowed books and scientific papers sprawled across the desk in front of you, the thoughts you’d been attempting to organise in your head continue to muddle themselves into an incomprehensible blur. To be honest, it’s strange for you to not want to be there; you’ve always been the academic type, almost too much so at times, leading your fellow physics students to praise you, and less studious friends to tease you. Your parents had always encouraged you down this path, always pushed you to be the best student you could be, and it has always stuck with you throughout your childhood. However, with the way things have been going in recent days, you’re finding that this studious upbringing seems to be wearing off… Leaning back in your chair, you take one last look at the material that’s supposed to be helping you complete your thesis; it’s no good – you can’t concentrate. Thankfully, it’s coming up to lunch time anyway. You’re a few minutes early, but what the heck – your frazzled state of mind isn’t going to get you any further right now. Gathering your things together and returning the materials you’d taken from the library, you go to leave. However, getting that distinct feeling that you’re being watched as you cross the room, you glance upwards and notice three old classmates of yours sitting further down the library. They nod and wave to you in greeting, and out of politeness, you return the nod briefly. You don’t linger, however; being cooped up in the same room all morning, getting nowhere on your thesis, has given you a severe case of cabin fever. Exiting the library, you begin to make your way swiftly towards your usual lunchtime haunt - the college sandwich bar. Just as you’re musing about what to eat, you suddenly hear your name being called from behind you, and you jolt slightly at the noise; it sounded so loud after being in the tranquillity of the near-silent library all morning. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see your three former classmates barrelling down the corridor after you.

“Morning Brian,” one of them greets, and you return it with surprise, feeling momentarily bad for leaving so quickly when they evidently wanted to talk to you.

“How’s it going with that thesis of yours?” another boy chimes in, “you looked like you couldn’t get out of the room fast enough!”

“Yeah,” you emit, sighing slightly but still trying to make light of it, “I think I’ve had enough of Doppler effects for today!”

The third boy sports a smirk, quipping “and who’d have thought you of all people would be running to escape physics?” It does make you grin for a moment; your newfound lethargy when it comes to your favourite subject surprises yourself as much as it does them.

“I know. If I’m being honest, I’m getting more and more distracted by music nowadays.” Looking to see the boys’ reactions, their shock is a little more strong than you would have liked.

“Really? Don’t you care about astronomy anymore?” You’re quick to defend yourself.

“No, of course not. I still find it fascinating, I love it. It’s just the work’s very...” You find yourself wondering whether it’s worth confiding your thoughts in them, as you haven’t spoken to them properly in a while, and aren’t sure they’ll be sympathetic. However, looking again at the boys’ concerned faces, you decide to give them a chance.

“I’ve been so wrapped up in Queen recently. I really enjoy it, and we’re doing some good things with it. I really want to finish my thesis and do what I’d planned to do from the start, but the more I do with Queen, the more confused I get, really…” You’ve been wrestling with this problem for a while now; completing your thesis and hopefully finding some kind of job in the astronomy field is what you’ve always wanted, but the excitement of all you’ve done with the boys in Queen, and the prospect of what you could do if luck gets on your side, has really pulled your attention away from science. You can’t imagine what a waste it would feel like to end your academic endeavours, almost like throwing your whole life away, but the creativity and teamwork that you get to enjoy when writing and playing with Queen is so exciting, and if you managed to really get somewhere… wouldn’t that be so much more satisfying than a regular job? It all gets too much to think about sometimes, and you voice exactly that to the boys now strolling alongside you.

“I can’t really get my head around what to do anymore… It’s a bit worrying, to be honest.” Despite this delicate confession, it unfortunately becomes quickly apparent that your decision to trust the boys’ empathy was wrong.

“Well,” the boy who’d spoken second begins, with a bit of a sneer to his tone, “I’d never have guessed our swotty Brian would ditch the noble art of astronomy to go hang out with a Queer... AHEM, sorry, Queen!”

The rudeness of the statement hits the air like a thundercrack; you really hadn’t expected something like that to come out of any of their mouths, and you find yourself stunned for a moment. The ungraceful stab at Freddie’s flamboyant demeanour didn’t go unnoticed, all three of the boys sniggering amongst themselves briefly. Coming back to your senses a little and deciding not to indulge them any further, you carry on down the hall, increasing your speed slightly, but to your disappointment, they follow suit.

“Nah, we’re only kidding, Brian. You never know, you might take off and not even need this place. Don’t you lot have a record deal?”

“We did,” you find yourself muttering through near-gritted teeth, not wanting to admit any perceived failure in front of them, “but we got dropped after Tim left, remember?”

Even though you mentally brace yourself for the further ridicule that follows, it still hurts. They shoot words of consolation, though their incredulous facial expressions as they glance between each other say something different.

“Oh never mind, at least you’ll still have a doctorate in the near future if you get a move on, and then you can be an astronomer and everyone’s happy.”

The next jab, coming from the second boy again, who apparently can’t get enough of belittling you, causes your polite façade to come crashing down into a glare that is impossible to hide.

“Yeah, England’s already got one Queen, it doesn’t need another!”

Fantastic. The three of them actually erupt into raucous laughter right in your face, as if your personal life is the most stupid thing they’ve ever heard; this is unbelievable. What’s so funny about music, anyway? It’s one of the biggest things in this bloody place; the one thing students love to do when college is over is go to gigs and socialise… and since when did these boys, who you used to know quite well and have always been nice to you, suddenly decide that you need to be made a laughing stock out of? An audible sigh escapes you; there’s no point trying to justify yourself to this lot. They’ll never appreciate it. At this point, it dawns on you that your pace has quickened considerably, and you’re almost racing to get away from them as you round the corner and enter the sandwich bar. Completely distracted and unsure of what you’re doing, you try to make your way across the room while the boys continue to chatter amongst themselves, almost as if you aren’t there, yet insisting on sticking by your side to make you hear it nonetheless. Striding towards the back of the room, you hopelessly wish for a distraction to send them in the opposite direction, for their friends to arrive and drag them away. Instead, much to your surprise in the discomfort of the moment, it’s a friend that arrives for you.

“Brian!”

The feminine voice halts you in your tracks, and you cast around, looking for its owner. Once you locate her, waving at you from a nearby table with her usual wavy hair and friendly expression, you can’t help but break into a relieved smile.

“Oh, hi!” you greet, somewhat more enthusiastically than you’d meant to, probably because of the verbal grilling you’ve been putting up with for the last few minutes, and how much you want to escape those idiots.

“Are you okay?” she asks, looking a little concerned, and you realise that your face must be displaying how flustered you are. However, you don’t want to bother her with it; you’d only just spoken about seeing each other in college the other day, and you don’t want your first encounter to be marred by unnecessary frustration.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, trying to inject a casual tone into your voice, “how are you?” To your relief, this new conversation evidently bores the taunting boys, as they turn their backs on you without saying another word, going to sit at the far end of the room. You watch them leave with a glare before turning your attention back to her.

“Fine,” she replies hesitantly, “are you sure you’re okay?” You shake your head, your curls flying frantically, and finally relax, knowing you’re in her company now.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. My old classmates are just... a bit rude.” Her brow crinkles with concern at this, and though it’s not a happy expression, she still looks pretty. “Honestly, don’t worry about it,” you urge, not wanting her to focus on it, “they don’t really know me that well anymore.”

“Fair enough,” she says, seeming to let it slide. “I don’t know if you had any plans, but you’re welcome to join me if you like? We were just talking about this!” She gestures to the empty seat in front of her, and you notice that she’s already got her lunch. Smiling, you realise that this sounds exactly like the boost you need after having to deal with those morons.

“Yes, okay then, thanks! I’ll just go and grab something.” A small smile creeps onto her face as you accept, and you make fast progress of going up to the bar and buying yourself something to eat. Soon enough, you’re sitting opposite her, smiling over your food.

“You probably got the picture already,” you say sheepishly, not wanting to come across too shy, “but you and your band really were good at Whiskey’s the other night.” She blushes, visibly attempting to suppress a wider smile, and you add honestly, “it’s nice to see a girl getting up there. Rock music’s dominated by boys.” The moment the words leave your mouth, she quickly lowers the sandwich she’d been about to bite into, holding your gaze with some sort of strong feeling shining in her eyes.

“Do you really think so?” she asks, her voice growing higher and louder, and a little surprised, you reply with a little falter, “y-yes, I thought you were great!” You’re unsure of how to interpret the expression on her face, but thankfully, it turns out to be a positive thing.

“Brian, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that!” she gushes, seeming pleasantly surprised. “I get so much stick from all kinds of people for being in a group full of boys. I know it’s not exactly the classic idea of a rock band, but…” Her expression grows pensive for a moment as she pauses. “I just really love singing. The other girls in biology are constantly telling me to stop fantasising and give it up, and I don’t think my mum thinks much of it either…” The doubt in her eyes slowly turns into determination as you watch her speak. “…but why shouldn’t I be in a rock band? I mean, I know my voice isn’t exactly, you know, gritty or powerful, or anything like that...” You shoot her a look, knowing that her voice is much better than she seems to think. “I just love the songs. Although sometimes, I wonder if they’re all right.”

“No, not at all,” you soothe with meaning, admiring her passion, “you have every right to do what you do, and your voice is...” You struggle with what to say, not wanting to sound over the top; you still don’t know each other that well yet. “…well, it’s right for you. It wouldn’t make sense if you had the same voice as every other frontman out there. It’s the difference that’s the most striking thing, I think.” She starts to smile at your words, and you feel encouraged that you seem to have said the right thing. “No, you’re good at it, so don’t let people get under your skin. You’re really nice to listen to.”

Feeling suddenly embarrassed, you hope that that last part didn’t come across too sentimental. However, glancing back up at her expression again, she’s gazing at you softly with a contented smile, so it must have been okay.

“Thanks Brian,” she utters simply, almost at a whisper, and then puts her eyes back on her food. Strange – you didn’t realise you were any good at comforting people.

As you gaze absentmindedly across the room while you chew your food, you unfortunately catch sight of your obnoxious former classmates from earlier, who are now shuffling along the queue at the bar. Although you don’t like being outwardly angry towards people, you can’t help but glare at the backs of them again; they should know better than to be so childish.

“What did they do?” Snapping your gaze back to her at the sound of her voice, you realise she must have seen you looking at them with discontent.

“Oh, it’s nothing. They were just rude about Freddie and the band.” You briefly replay an abridged version of their ridiculous scoffing from earlier in your head, summing it up by adding “I don’t think they quite get the attraction of music.” Her face grows disdainful to match yours.

“How bizarre,” she says with a hint of sarcasm, “poor boys. Looks like they’re gonna miss out when Queen hit big!” You know it’s a light statement meant to cheer you up, but there seems to be honesty in the way she says it; perhaps she really does like your music more than you realised? “Why were they being mean about Freddie?” You find yourself frowning as you answer.

“Oh, I think they don’t like the whole... well, the gay thing.” She suddenly appears inquisitive at the mention of this.

“Oh, so, he is gay then?”

“Well, I don’t think so,” you reply with every shred of knowledge that you have about Freddie, “he’s always been very effeminate, even back in art school, but I think that’s just his manner. I um-” You pause for a moment, knowing that what you’re about to say is both funny and awkward. “-I used to share a bedroom with him a little while ago, when we lived in a different flat, and well, h-he used to bring quite a few people back with him while I was there, so…” As you meet her eyes, your cheeks feeling a little hot, her mouth twists into an amused smirk.

“Ah, right,” she replies, clearly understanding what you’re alluding to and wanting to laugh, “that’s a shame for you.”

“Er, yeah, well,” you stammer, amused but wanting to move on. “What I meant to say is that none of the people he ever brought back were boys.” She nods, still visibly trying to quash a grin. “And he actually has a girlfriend at the moment,” you continue, “so I think that probably makes things a little clearer.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, looking interested, “I didn’t realise, although I suppose I don’t know him too well yet. I’m glad for him.”

“Yes, they seem like a great couple,” you reply, “perhaps you’ll meet her sometime. I just wish some people didn’t have such an adverse reaction to the idea that he might be gay, just because of his mannerisms.”

“Well, even if he was gay, it wouldn’t matter, would it?” she remarks strongly in Freddie’s defence, leaning back in her seat, and you shake your head, agreeing wholeheartedly and feeling glad that she shares your opinion.

“Absolutely not, it makes no difference at all. He’s a great person.” A grin seems to grow upon her face when you mention his endearing personality.

“Yeah, he’s lovely,” she agrees almost gushingly, “what a charmer! And he’s so polite too. You did well to find him!” You smile briefly, holding her cheery gaze for a moment, and as you take in her small features and the way her friendliness is so open and inviting, you find yourself feeling very glad to have bumped into her today. You’re also noticing, the more you two talk, that she seems to be quite headstrong in her ideas and feelings, which you have to admit, you quite admire.

Suddenly, before either of you can say anything else, a large ball of scrunched-up paper comes flying across the room out of nowhere and hits her on the back of the head. Shocked, she picks it up after it ricochets off her and lands on the table, turning to see who threw it, possibly to send it back their way. However, she then relaxes into a smile and says in reply “very funny.”

Following her gaze a little way across the room, you realise that it was her bandmate, Harry, that had thrown it. You hadn’t realised he also came to this college. He comes over to the table, sporting a boyish grin as usual, bragging loudly “I’ve always had good accuracy, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, shame I can’t hit YOU over long distances,” she shoots back, indignant but clearly joking, and he clubs her on the shoulder with a laugh, insisting “budge up, then,” nodding to the vacant chair next to her. She complies, shifting over to sit on a diagonal from you now, as Harry takes her seat. Taking a moment to subtly glance curiously at him, you find yourself unsure of what to make of him. He seems like a nice enough bloke, but he does sort of dominate her when the two of them are together, which seems to be almost all of the time; this brief lunchtime encounter has been the only time you’ve actually spent time with her away from her band.

“Brian,” he greets quickly with a nod, and you smile back politely. With his next sentence, he seems to drop his tough-guy act a little and become a little more serious. “Thanks for coming out on Friday, it was nice to meet you all.”

“Oh, you too,” you reply, “we all enjoyed it, definitely.”

“Thanks,” he says with a toothy grin, “we’ll have to hang out more, all of us.” His nicer side shines through now, and you start to like him a little more.

“Anyway, I only popped in to say hi ‘cause I saw you here. Don’t you two have super brainy science stuff to do? Lunch is nearly over.” Looking at your watch, you begrudgingly agree that it’s about time you got back to the library to carry on working. Hopefully those annoying boys won’t be there this time.

“Haven’t you had lunch yet?” she asks Harry, and in a wordless response, he swipes the apple sitting in front of her, the last part of her meal, and bites into it without asking, wiggling his eyebrows in some kind of challenge. She doesn’t rise to it, simply rolling her eyes, and he nudges her until she giggles. They certainly seem to have a close friendship.

“Alright, well, I suppose you’re right,” she admits, “I’d better get back to work.” She then turns away from Harry, making a point of meeting your eyes. “Thanks for having lunch with me, Brian,” she says with a smile, and you return it, glad that she seems to have enjoyed your company. “No, thank you.”

The three of you stand simultaneously, making your way out of the sandwich bar and back into the main part of the building, where it seems you’re all destined to part ways.

“See you later Brian,” Harry shoots, punctuating it with a pat on your shoulder, before heading off towards the front of the college, glancing back to wink at her while adding “and you!”. She simply nods at him with a brief smile before turning her attention back to you.

“Okay, well I suppose I’ll see you around then,” you say, and she nods with another soft smile that only increases your disgruntlement at the fact that you have to break away from this pleasant excursion to get back to the stuffy library and the thesis that is currently making your life rather difficult.

“Definitely, see you soon. And don’t worry, Brian-“ You hesitate as you begin to walk away, waiting to hear what she says. “-Queen’s gonna prove all those idiots wrong. Just you wait!” She winks at you as she finishes her sentence, flashing a grin and turning on her heel to leave through the double doors in front of you, and you find yourself simply looking after her for a moment, an unmoving island among the sea of students snaking their way around you. Taking a second to think about how nice she’s been to you, and how she seemed to want to make you feel better about what had been bothering you, you feel a small smile grow across your face; she’s quite something.


	4. Oh, You Make Me Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story now shifts back to the protagonist's perspective. You and your band manage to bump into the Queen boys once more, leading to you and Brian getting better acquainted over music. Later, you also get to spend some time with Freddie away from the band, but during your antics, he suggests something that has you wondering about you own feelings... and Brian's.

(The story shifts back to the protagonist’s point of view.)

“Charlie, it’s bloody freezing! Can’t you make this van any warmer?”

“Sorry, it’s giving everything it’s got. This weather’s really not getting any better.”

You, Charlie and Harry are sitting in Charlie’s hulking van, cruising steadily down the road to get to the practice hall.

“Where are Dave and Tom again?” Harry asks from one of the back seats, and Charlie relays the conversation.

“Dave said they were getting the bus in, ‘cause they were still in college, but it shouldn’t take too long for them to get there. I offered to pick them straight up, but of course, they didn’t have their guitars on them.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, “I wouldn’t exactly find my life relaxing if I had to lug mine on my back all day, everywhere I went, just in case!”

Finally, you pull up at the side of the road, and desperately wanting to get out of the unyielding cold, you jump straight out of the van, hurrying towards the warmth of the building, shouting to the boys “I’ll go sign us in!”

“Yeah that’s right,” Charlie calls after you with a mock-annoyed tone, “you go doing the easy job while we carry all the heavy equipment by ourselves!”

You snigger at his remark as you enter the building, and rejoice as the heat engulfs you, causing you to wrench your scarf and heavy coat away before you get too warm. Making your way up to the check-in desk just inside the entrance, you smile at the familiar face of the man seated there, a sort of receptionist for the place.

“Hello again,” he greets warmly, “get in alright with all that snow?” There had been a heavy fall the night before, and you’d all woken up this morning in shock to find every car, doorstep and signpost in sight smothered in white.

“Just about,” you reply, “it’s pretty cold out there!” He smiles and hands you the sign-in paper, which organises which band has booked the practice room at what time, and if they’ve arrived or not.

“You’re a little early, so I think the other band are still in there,” he informs, and looking curiously at the box above the one you’ve just written in, you notice that someone is indeed using the room before you, and not only that, but the elongated, sloping handwriting of the signature reveals itself to spell ‘Freddie Mercury’ – it’s Queen! What a perfect coincidence, and now you can’t resist having some fun with it. You thank the venue owner and head straight towards the practise room, not stopping to help Charlie and Harry with the equipment, especially since it’s so bloody cold outside! Reaching the large, ageing doors, you were about to make a spectacle of yourself, but upon hearing the muffled crashing of the music, you decide to put it off momentarily to take a sneak peek at what they’re doing. Pushing the creaking door gingerly in an attempt to go unnoticed, you peep your head around the gap you’ve made, beholding Queen mid-song. Though you don’t know the tune they’re in the middle of, it sounds great straight away, up-tempo and powerful, and the overall sound of the four of them together has a very professional air to it, not sloppy or out of sync in the slightest. They’re all great to watch too, and you find your eyes popping at what Freddie’s wearing; a pair of skintight, shining white leggings, which look like they’re made of some kind of silky material, and an equally white top which has huge folds of extra material hanging from each sleeve, so that when he lifts his arms, they look like wings. How extravagant, and a beautiful effect. Your eyes move to land on each of them in turn, taking in the bassist, John, first; he’s the only one you and your boys haven’t met properly yet. He’s slim with very long brown hair, and very able hands; his basslines are surprisingly complex, and add to the music so well. You get the feeling he’s quite musically clever. Roger looks fantastic as a drummer, pounding away with power and impeccable timing, really going all over the kit, yet providing steady backing vocals at the same time. He has a lot of energy! Then your gaze lands on Brian, and what you see is both surprising and impressive; he’s definitely different from his normal self when he’s playing guitar - less nervy, with no awkwardness. He has a lovely fluid motion to his playing, seeming to cover so many frets with barely a shred of effort, and he visibly loves it. Bolder and more outwardly passionate about the music, he’s quite a different man. You also notice that the song the band are playing has quite a few complicated riffs in it, and despite being the only guitarist in the group, Brian is managing it all with no problems. Thinking about it, there’s no way either Harry or Dave would be able to play any of it quite the way Brian does; it’s astonishing how accomplished he is, and it makes you want to listen to Queen more seriously to really appreciate it. Your presence seems to have gone unnoticed this entire time, just as you’d hoped, and the song they’re playing comes to an end, Roger giving a little cheer from behind the kit. You decide that this is the moment to put your initial comedic plan into action; reversing back around the door and closing it, you wait for a second until you can vaguely hear the band members talking amongst themselves, not suspecting a thing. Then, with as much noise as you can make, and a mischievous grin on your face, you unceremoniously boot the door open as hard as you can, causing it to bash into the wall behind it. Bursting into the room behind it, you immediately start laughing as the four Queen members jump in unison at the noise, clutching their chests and relaxing into laughter as they see you.

“Revenge!” you announce, your arms spread wide in a dramatic pose. “You walk in on us, we walk in on you!”

“Oh, I see,” Freddie retorts over the microphone with a smirk, “cutting into our practise time again? Up to your old tricks?!” It makes you giggle, and Roger joins in by yelling, mic-less, “you’re too early! Go away!”

Charlie and Harry finally appear behind you, having brought all of the equipment into the hallway, and you make your way across the room towards the stage, insisting “sorry, we’re early, please carry on!”

“Not to worry darling,” Freddie replies, glancing at the other Queen boys, “I think we’re pretty much done, aren’t we?” They all nod in vague agreement, and you reply quickly “well, don’t worry about packing up straight away, ‘cause Dave and Tom are gonna be late, and we can’t really start without them.”

“Okay,” Freddie acknowledges, hopping down from the stage and dispersing Queen’s practise, “but listen, darling, I have a proposal for you.” In something of a rambunctious mood today, you pretend to gasp theatrically.

“But Fred, we barely know each other - what would our parents think?!” It makes him chortle merrily, and looking down as he regains his composure, you notice that he has bare feet. It must contribute to his never-faltering grace onstage.

“Oh dear, but anyway, what I meant to say was - how would you like to come shopping with me, dear?” You’re taken aback by the sudden proposition.

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” he insists, nodding with a gentle smile, “we should have some retail therapy, the two of us – we need to get to know each other better!”

“I’m gonna need retail therapy,” you reply, motioning towards his fancy attire, “if I’m gonna look half as well-dressed as you! Look at those wings...” He holds his arms up in a wide pose so you can see the full effect, and it’s just marvellous. “That’s amazing,” you gush, “and I bet you designed it yourself, didn’t you?” He nods with a modest sense of pride.

“I thought I’d wear it to practice, test it out to see how well it works.”

“Well it’s a thumbs up from me!”

“Thank you, darling! So, how about it? Can you break away from your busy schedule to come and spend some time with me downtown?” You mentally picture your usual college routine, musing aloud “I think Thursday’s good.”

“Well that works out,” Freddie replies, “I’m free as a bird, any day. It’s a date, darling!” The pair of you share a huge smile, and you’re so happy that your friendship with him is blooming. You can’t wait!

“Now, where did I put my shoes?” he questions to no one in particular, setting off to look for them, and you glance at the rest of the boys; Charlie and Harry are engrossed in animated conversation – it looks like Roger is introducing them to John. Noting that you haven’t met him yet either, you start to make your way towards them to join in, but glancing momentarily at Brian as you climb up onto the stage, you notice that he’s on his own. Feeling a little bad to see him left out, you falter for a moment, before resolving to introduce yourself to John in a minute. Heading across the stage and taking him in properly, you see that Brian’s changed his guitar amp to a clean setting and turned it down, playing a slower tune to himself as he sits on top of the amp, concentration engulfing him as his eyes flicker back and forth between his fretting hand and his strumming hand, curls bobbing with the movement of his head. You watch and listen for a moment, enjoying what he’s playing, as well as admiring his clear passion for music – it’s really nice to see someone so into what they’re doing. When he pauses, you announce your presence.

“That sounds nice,” you say, and he looks up instantly, stopping what he’s doing and smiling up at you.

“Thanks, it’s a work in progress, I guess. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” you reply with a warm expression, “you?” He nods, returning your smile and sending his hair bouncing again. It’s quite funny, but kind of endearing at the same time.

“It’s probably because I haven’t seen you play properly before,” you begin, “but I honestly didn’t realise how good you are on guitar. Those riffs you had going before looked pretty tough to play, and fast, too. Don’t tell them, but I don’t think Harry or Dave could play like that!” You whisper the last part, shielding your mouth from Charlie and Harry, and he chuckles for a second while dropping his gaze, looking a little embarrassed but pleased at the same time.

“Uh, I don’t know what to say,” he replies, blushing, “thank you. Can you play guitar?”

You display an unsure expression, replying honestly “I can, but it’s not really enough of a talent to play in a band with. I started out learning basic chords, just so I could accompany myself when I was writing songs, so I could get a better vision of them, but then I got together with this lot, and I had no need for it anymore really.”

Brian says nothing in reply, but instead slides his guitar strap over his head and holds the instrument up to you. “Have a go.” The request catches you off guard, and you feel as though you’d make a fool of yourself if you played something at your level after seeing his masterful display.

“Really? No, I can’t-“

“Go on,” he insists softly, standing up and thrusting the guitar towards your hands, and giving in, you sheepishly take up his seat on top of the amp, suddenly embarrassed about everything. He kneels down in front of you to watch, and you can tell from the heat in your cheeks that you’re probably glowing crimson.

“Erm...”

“Just play anything,” he encourages, and you want to laugh at the role reversal that seems to have occurred, you becoming the shy one that substitutes ‘erm’ for normal conversation, while he’s quiet but unfaltering. Gritting your teeth, you pull yourself together and start to play a part from one of your band’s songs; sometimes you do write guitar parts for the band yourself, and Harry and Dave take the sections and incorporate them into a song, but with much more flair and solidity than you’re capable of. Nevertheless, you soldier on, avoiding eye contact with Brian and trying to make your playing as articulate as you can, hoping that he doesn’t think you’re a hopeless musician. After going through a bit of it, you bring your impromptu performance to a clumsy end.

“That’s pretty much it,” you mumble, “it’s a bit from one of our songs. I’m not very good though.”

Brian simply smiles in return, replying quietly “you are. That was nice, it flowed really well.” You feel flattered, hoping that your face isn’t too red, and changing the subject, turn your attention to the guitar in your hands.

“This is a gorgeous guitar,” you remark, admiring the craftsmanship that’s gone into it, “where did you get it?” Brian grins, exposing his pointed teeth again, and seems very happy with himself.

“Well, this is pretty much my only claim to being amazing,” he starts with a laugh, “but I made it.” The impact of what he’s just told you sends your brain reeling. 

“You made this?” He nods vigorously, unable to keep the proud beam off his face.

“With my dad, when I was sixteen. I like guitars with big, wide necks, and I thought I could build my own instead of trying to find a perfect one, ‘cause sometimes it’s impossible to find one that matches exactly what you want, and they can be really expensive too.” You nod in agreement, and turn your eyes back down to the thing, turning it this way and that to look at it.

“I just can’t believe you made this, it’s amazing!”

“Well, who knows - it might fall apart if we really get touring!” he laughs. “We made it out of random things we had in the house, or anything we could find. It’s quite funny actually, this-“ he points to the tremolo bar, “-is off an old bicycle, and this-“ he moves to the tip of it, “-is the end of a knitting needle.”

“Oh gosh, it is!” you exclaim, seeing it now that he’s pointed it out, “how did I not notice that before?!”

He chuckles, adding “and pretty much the whole body is made from a fireplace!” You’re speechless; he must have been so ambitious to embark on such a complex project, and very clever to have actually pulled it off – and what a result.

“Brian, it’s a really beautiful guitar. I’m amazed.” You hand it back to him, and he lays it down gingerly beside him and turns back to hold your gaze, sharing your smile.

“Thanks. I call it the Red Special…” He seems to become ashamed of himself as soon as he says it. “…that’s pretty nerdy actually.” You find yourself giggling at his embarrassment, insisting “no, it’s not! It’s sweet.”

Loud voices suddenly capture your attention in the doorway of the room, and you look past Brian to notice that Dave and Tom have finally arrived, equipment in tow, now sparking up a jesting argument with the other boys at their own tardiness.

“We’d better get out of your way,” Brian states, standing up and picking up his Red Special, putting it in its case carefully.

“Maybe we should get together and jam sometime,” you suggest, “although you’ll probably blow me out of the water with your skills!”

He closes the guitar case and straightens up to meet your eyes again, agreeing “yeah, we should. I know you’re making dates with Freddie, but let me know if you fancy it.” You nod, and he drops his gaze to the floor again, seems to retreat into his shell once more. He picks up his guitar case and stands it against the nearest amp, casting around to make sure he hasn’t left anything, and a thought strikes you as he looks like he’s about to step off the edge of the stage to leave.

“Brian?” He turns to face you, looking attentive as always, but you know his awkwardness was causing him to slip away again without a proper goodbye. “How come you never hug me goodbye like everyone else?”

A blush immediately rises in his cheeks furiously, and he gives a short laugh, casting his eyes down and struggling with his shyness for a moment, before stepping towards you slowly. You meet him enthusiastically, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug, which, once your bodies meet, he seems to relax a little and return warmly. His curly mass of hair nestles against your face, and surprisingly, it feels somewhat nice. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to seem weird by holding onto him for too long, and you can sense that he’s thinking something similar. The pair of you then separate, and for a few seconds, you do nothing but gaze at each other, sharing small smiles while you wonder what’s going on in Brian’s head, and then he utters his usual quiet “bye” and picks up his things, turning to leave. Harry, Charlie, Dave and Tom hop up onto the stage and start setting up their equipment around you, and watching after Brian as he walks away, you feel as though you just got a little closer to him… it’s a nice feeling.

__

“I’m telling you, we go on much longer, and I’ll collapse! My feet are killing me!”

It’s 3:30pm on a certain Thursday that you’d been looking forward to all week; yourself and Freddie had swapped phone numbers and organised your day out, and from the moment Freddie had met you at your rendezvous spot, arriving fashionably late as expected, the pair of you simply hadn’t stopped. With the energy of a hurricane, Freddie had whisked you off to all sorts of places you’d never been before, this trendy clothes boutique and that exquisite jewellery shop, and by the end of it, you’re feeling very cheerful but positively shopped out!

“Alright, well, here’s a nice little café - shall we get something to drink?” he replies to your complaints, gesturing towards a small teahouse nearby, and you nod enthusiastically, looking forward to sitting down. The pair of you enter the café, Freddie’s step maintaining its usual sprightly skip, while you’re practically shuffling, rather ungraceful in comparison, alongside him. Soon enough, you’re sitting opposite each other across a small table, steaming coffees to fuel you, and a rather impressive mountain of bags on the floor by your collective feet, full of your spoils of the day. Now that you’re sitting down, the throbbing in your feet seems to intensify, your shoes feeling about three sizes too small from all the walking you’ve done. Not caring what anyone nearby might think, you slip them off under the table, revelling in the relief it brings.

“Well, my darling,” Freddie says with a cheery, sing-song tone to his voice, “this has been a wonderful outing! I tell you what - you can come shopping with me again any day. I’ve had a ball!”

“Me too!” you reply earnestly, still a little giddy from the day’s frivolity, despite your physical fatigue. “It’s been so much fun! You’re a great shopping buddy, Fred. I think we’re definitely going to have to do this again sometime!” He beams happily in response, his shoulders raising, and little grooves appearing around his mouth. Today has genuinely pulled you two much closer together as great friends, and you’re so glad you could spend the time with him, feeling as though he’s going to be a close confidant. As the saying goes, you get on like a house on fire.

“I will say one thing, though,” you add, “I think I’ve had months where I’ve spent less money than this! You’re a bad influence, Fred!” You shoot him a look that jokingly implies that it’s all his fault, and he giggles lightly.

“It was worth it though!” he replies with a cheeky expression, “especially for that fabulous burgundy top you bought with the lace detail... hold it up again!” You comply to his request, sifting through your purchases until you find the item, before standing up and holding it against you while striking an over-exaggerated pose, like a model. Freddie’s eyes soften when he sees it again, smiling and clapping effeminately in glee. 

“Marvellous, darling! It suits you so well.”

Once you’re back in your seat, the both of you take a moment to sip your coffees, grateful for the comforting warmth, and enjoying the small moment of calm. However, it doesn’t last long, as Freddie’s expression changes, looking as though he’s just remembered something, as he brings his cup back down to its saucer with a small chink.

“Now, I knew there was something else I had to tell you,” he says, licking a stray drop of coffee from his lips. “If everything goes according to plan, Queen will have a gig next week, and this is your official invitation.” Your eyebrows shoot up excitedly at the prospect; you have seen Queen a couple of times before, but it was only ever by accident, when they’d happened to be playing at a club you were at by chance, and even still, you hadn’t always paid 100% attention, caught up in whatever company you’d been in at the time. This is your chance to watch them as a real fan, absorbing the whole thing and enjoying every moment.

“Really? When’s this?”

“It should be on Wednesday, I think, at my old college – you know Ealing, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply, mentally picturing the place, “I’ve never been there myself, but I’m pretty sure I know where it is.” Freddie nods contentedly.

“It can be a little difficult to get a spot there, you know,” he continues. “The college scene is very popular nowadays, and as you can probably imagine, there are groups who are still at college that tend to take priority… but I think we’ve managed to get in there!” He gives a small, victorious grin. “We’re just waiting for a phone call to confirm it. As soon as it’s all sorted, I’ll call and let you know!”

“Please do, Freddie, that’ll be amazing,” you enthuse, “I can’t wait to see you all play properly!” He leans back in his chair, relaxing into his trademark happy-go-lucky smile.

“And I can’t wait to serenade you, darling!” You both bubble over into quiet giggles, before growing quiet once more, sipping your coffee. As the steam swirls upwards, breathing warmly on your brow, you imagine what it’ll be like to see Queen properly; picturing your last gig, with the roles reversed, you see yourself standing in a room full of college students, perhaps with your bandmates by your side, watching excitedly as Queen give it their all. Freddie is swaggering boldly across the stage, his every movement a work of art. Roger is shaking his hair as he bashes away at the kit, grinning and revelling in the music. John is retaining his usual air of introspection, yet churning out powerful bass riffs that defy his cool exterior. Finally, Brian’s gaze is fixed upon his Red Special, his skilful, agile hands creating sounds you never imagined one person could play alone. The thought of it is so exciting, you feel yourself pausing in the middle of drinking your coffee, as your mind conjures up more sounds and images. You’re not sure how long this reverie lasts, but suddenly, a hand appears right in front of your face, waving to get your attention.

“Wake up sweetie,” Freddie’s voice comes softly, “you’re daydreaming.” Snapping out of it and back into the moment, the café suddenly seems louder and brighter than it had been before.

“Sorry!” you reply, a little dazed, wondering why you’d gotten so lost once you’d started thinking about Brian. He’s a curious person, and there’s something about him that you really like, though you can’t quite put your finger on it; he seems a little different from most boys your age. Then again, this might be the perfect opportunity to find out more – you’re sitting across from someone who probably knows him very well.

“Fred?” He hums questioningly in reply. “I was just wondering - does Brian...” You trail off for a moment, not sure how to word your question without it sounding weird. “…well, he’s so shy and awkward sometimes, isn’t he? You don’t think it’s because of me, do you?”

“No, of course not!” Freddie’s quick to answer. “He’s always been like that, especially around girls, but that’s just Brian for you.” His mouth curves into a small smirk.

“Oh, okay,” you respond, “I just wondered if there was something about me that made it hard for him to relax around me, or something. I really have to break him down sometimes, to get a real conversation out of him. Or a hug.” Freddie laughs at that, displaying a knowing smile.

“Yes, that sounds about right. I think he’s just naturally a shy person. I’ve always kind of gathered that about him, but I know what you mean. It’s probably because you haven’t known each other that long yet,” he continues. “He’s not like that with us lot, but we’ve known him longer.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you nod, getting the picture about Brian a little better.

“Why do you ask?” Freddie quizzes, gazing at you inquisitively from over his coffee.

“No real reason, I suppose,” you reply, “I was just curious.” Thinking about it again, you find yourself smiling at the conversations you have had with Brian so far. “He’s just really nice when he actually talks to me properly.”

After you say this, Freddie’s expression changes, his eyes shining and his eyebrows arching as though he’s trying to suggest something.

“What?” you shoot, bemused. His gaze doesn’t falter, and a seemingly knowing grin stretches across his face as he begins to look a little giddy.

“What?!” Freddie slaps the table sharply, making you jump slightly, his teeth on full display with the width of his grin, and then he laces his fingers, leaning on his hands demurely in contrast. He leans forwards towards you across the table, seeming to really relish his next sentence.

“You fancy him.”

That’s not what you had expected him to say.

“What? No, I don’t!” As you shake your head against the statement, you suddenly feel bad, not wanting to insinuate that Brian’s not attractive or anything. “He is lovely,” you admit, “but no, it’s not like that.” Freddie just starts to giggle, leaning back in his chair and disregarding your refute, exclaiming insistently, “you want him!”

“No! That’s not what I was saying,” you find yourself half shouting in embarrassment, aware that a couple of nearby café-goers have turned their heads towards the noise. “You’re twisting my words!”

“Well, why are you so flustered, then?!”

“I just- I didn’t- oh, forget it.”

You surrender to the futility of the situation, knowing that now Freddie’s got the idea in his head, nothing you say is going to stop him from teasing you relentlessly, even if it’s not true. Shooting him a look, you see that Freddie’s positively in stitches at your reaction, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle his laughter. Sighing heavily, you swipe your coffee from the table and drink the last of it while he pulls himself together. As you listen while his mirthful giggles slowly subside, you find yourself starting to wonder if there’s a reason he suggested that, or whether it was just him being silly.

“You know I have to ask now,” you probe, still a little embarrassed, “but are you saying it just to get on my nerves, or because…” You find yourself feeling very strange at the prospect. “…I mean, has he said anything about me? Is that why you said it?”

Freddie, now calm, but still sporting his suggestive expression, straightens up and gives an over-exaggerated shrug, replying highly, “I don’t know if he likes you, but I think you like him, darling! Don’t deny it if it’s true!”

“It’s not true,” you insist, “and don’t go telling everyone, especially not Brian!” He shoots you a soft accusatory look, seeming thoroughly pleased with himself, before returning to his own coffee. Now that the conversation seems to be over, you gaze at the table absent-mindedly, wondering if there really is something behind what Freddie had said; is there a chance that Brian actually likes you as more than a friend? Thinking about it, you can’t say you’ve ever noticed any tell-tale signs, but then again, he’s so wooden most of the time, it’s sort of too hard to tell. You get the idea that you’re not going to get any straight answers from Freddie, so it’s a puzzle you’re probably going to have to put together by yourself, and what’s even more confusing is that now Freddie’s put the idea in your head, you’re now questioning your own feelings for Brian; do you like him that way? Your first thought is pretty rational - how can you? You barely know each other, having only met a short while ago and had about three actual conversations anyway. It’s pretty unlikely that any potential feelings from either of you would have had a chance to blossom yet. Yes, Brian seems sweet, and he’s kind to you in a way that most other people aren’t, but that’s just his nature, it seems, and doesn’t necessarily mean anything. However, now that Freddie’s suggested the concept of you and Brian as a potential couple, you find yourself feeling very strange, not knowing what to think about him. Well… this is going to be awkward.


	5. I'm Warm And Terrified...  She Makes Me So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story shifts to Brian's perspective again, seeing the world through his eyes. It's time for Queen's gig at Ealing College, the home of Freddie's studying days, and Brian's excited to put his own studies aside and fully focus on music. The gig goes very well, making him even more determined to make music the main focus of his life, but during post-gig conversations, he's presented with a whole new conundrum as he's forced to face feelings he didn't realise he had... and ask a daunting question.

(The story shifts into Brian’s point of view.)

It feels strange walking into Ealing college instead of your own; you haven’t really been here before, not properly at least, and you can see why Freddie liked it. Huge, framed prints of various types of art hang upon the walls of the corridors like a gallery, some by famous and adored artists, and some by students. You’d be surprised if Freddie didn’t have a few of his own up somewhere – he really is a talent, and though he graduated years ago, this place still seems to feel like him somehow. This was the place where he made his first real friends after coming to England, and started to learn more about the things he had a passion for, namely clothes, art and music. A small smile stretches across your face as you also remember that, if it hadn’t been for Freddie studying here, your old bandmate Tim might never have met him and introduced him to you – your current situation would probably be very different. Pattering timidly along, you peer around the next corner, hoping you’ve remembered the directions the receptionist had given you as you’d got your visitor’s pass and asked where the venue was. A sense of relief washes over you as, through some double doors, you see the room you’re looking for. Striding onward with renewed purpose and entering the venue proper, you’re greeted by the sight of Freddie sitting on the edge of the stage, singing to himself lightly as John fiddles with his bass amp, altering his sound. As the door swings shut behind you, the sound alerts the pair of them to your presence, both of them acknowledging you with a nod and smile, Freddie adding a brief wave. He hops down from the stage to meet you halfway across the room.

“Brian! Glad you’re here. Roger’s not arrived yet, the lazy swine!” You smile, noticing that he seems to be quite excited to be back in his old college.

“This is a nice place,” you mention, “and there’s some really interesting work on the walls out there.” Freddie instantly nods vigorously, enthusing in the subject.

“Yes, it’s great isn’t it? I just love the fashion artwork; honestly, some of the girls in my class could’ve just drawn you up the most perfect dress, and it would look so realistic, you could just pick it up off the page and put it on!” Nostalgia shines fondly in his eyes. “They did try to put one of my sketches up there, but...” Freddie actually becomes momentarily sheepish, not something you usually see from him at all. “...I wouldn’t let them - not against those wonderful drawings! Not my old load of tripe!” You shake your head in disdain, rolling your eyes and shooting him a mock scolding look.

“Honestly Fred,” you chide in a way that shows you care, “you know exactly how good you are. You should have let them put five of your drawings up there.” He blushes for a moment, averting his eyes in a shy manner, visibly unsure of what to say in order to bat away the compliment. This is quite typical of Freddie; for all his boldness and bravado, he’s really bad at taking praise. He ends up simply nudging your arm gently, changing the subject, and you let him be.

“Anyway, let’s get going, shall we?” he chirps. “Roger should be here any minute... there’ll be trouble if he isn’t!” Grinning, the pair of you make your way towards the stage and ascend atop it, placing your gear roughly where it should go. While Freddie goes back to whatever he was doing, you take your Red Special out of its case and hoist it over your shoulders, setting about tuning it. As you do so, the repetitive twangs ringing out into the room, a memory comes rushing back to you from last week, when Harry and his bandmates came barging mischievously into your practice, and how a certain new female friend showed her skills upon these very strings. The flashback makes you smile momentarily, but then thinking about it for a second, you’re hit with a strange feeling when you realise that she’s the only person other than your dad who’s ever played your beloved guitar; you usually never give it up for anybody. How odd, that you let her handle something so precious to you without even thinking twice. The revelation seems to cause you to hold the guitar closer to you, wondering how you let your guard down so easily. Though you haven’t known her or her bandmates very long at all, they seem to be becoming quite good friends with all four of you, and the few times you’ve spoken to her properly, she’s always been very friendly, in a sort of inviting way. Despite your insecurities, you do feel like you want to relax around her. It’s not like with Freddie, Roger and John, but it’s… well, you can’t quite put your finger on what it is exactly, but there is something about her that makes you feel comfortable. Laughing, you finish this train of thought with the fact that neither Freddie, Roger or John have played your Red Special. A little bemused, you drag your mind back to the task at hand, knowing that you need to get on with setting up for the show, though one final thought does cross your mind as you do – you hope she comes to see Queen tonight.

The rest of the afternoon had gone pretty uneventfully, other than the moment Roger had finally appeared, which had been almost like a sudden comedy sketch in the middle of everything; bursting into the venue rather ungracefully and practically throwing his drums down the corridor, he’d apologised profusely, his excuse being that he’d rather overslept. When Freddie had demanded to know why he’d been sleeping at such a late time of day, his expression had turned lewd as he’d suggested that it might have been due to being 'busy' with a lady friend. This had caused Freddie to start wailing with laughter, switching from berating Roger to congratulating him, and whether it was actually true or not, you neither know, nor want to find out! After completing your soundcheck and hanging your stage clothes up in the backstage room, satisfied with everything, the four of you decide to have some drinks at the college bar during the interim before your performance. Now sitting around a table, you find yourself gazing around the place, interested in seeing more of where Freddie had spent his student days.

“It was great fun here,” Freddie tells you all after you’d pressed him for more memories. “I had a wonderful time; everyone was so welcoming.” He then turns to Roger, looking intrigued. “What about you, Rog? What were your college days like?” Roger shrugs, looking bored of the subject before he’s even started talking. 

“Yeah, they weren’t so great,” he admits. “Well, the socialising was alright, but everything else was… well, I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of thing. Music was always the thing that interested me more than anything.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a nice, tedious desk job, Roger?” John teases quietly with a cheeky smile, and everybody chuckles.

“God, no! I just want to be a drummer!” he exclaims, grinning and shaking his head. “I know it’s sensible to get qualifications and all that, but it’s certainly not interesting.”

“It definitely feels like too much hard work sometimes.” As soon as these words leave your mouth, your bandmates turn to goggle at you in surprise, and to be honest, you’re surprised at yourself for coming out with it so readily. Your recent frustration with your thesis must really be getting to you.

“I thought you really loved astronomy?” Roger asks in a shocked tone, and you huff with indignation, fed up of hearing the question, though it’s not his fault you’ve heard it enough already.

“I do, I’ve just been struggling to concentrate recently,” you begin again, at least this time knowing that your bandmates won’t be as rude about the subject as those silly boys from last week had been. “I’m finding it hard to want to keep going with my studies when I’m enjoying Queen so much.” The boys nod, and Freddie in particular smiles at the admission. “When we’re playing and writing songs like this... I don’t know, I sort of just want to put all of my time into it.” You can’t help but voice the truth, and the three of them seem to understand you exactly, displaying knowing expressions. You know all three of them could be doing other things, jobs that they’ve worked hard towards, yet all of you feel compelled to put as much effort into Queen as possible, hoping that one day, something may come of it. 

“Do you know what I have to do for my thesis?” you ask them, deciding to try and bring the mood back up with some dark humour.

“In astrophysics? I’ve no idea,” John replies with a smirk, laughing at his own lack of knowledge on the subject, “go on, tell us.” You find yourself rolling your eyes as you recite the task you’ve been working on for the last few years.

“I need to write a 48,000 word paper – 48,000 – on Radial Velocities In The Zodiacal Dust Cloud.” The stunned silence you’re met with is exactly what you’d expected. “Could any of you hazard a vague guess at what that is?” In return, John simply exhales a chuckle, while Freddie and Roger’s eyebrows rise to become almost permanently fixed to their hairlines, their faces a picture of pure bafflement.

“Is that the title of a psychedelic, progressive rock album?” Freddie quips, to which everyone chortles, Roger adding “yes, that’s what we’re calling ours!”

“What exactly is a Zodiacal Dust Cloud?” John asks, and though he probably isn’t that interested, your academically driven brain takes over and actually starts to answer the question.

“Well, it’s a group of particles in the universe’s atmosphere that forms this light that you can see from Earth, in the West after sunset and in the East before sunrise-“ You cut yourself off, feeling embarrassment rising within you for being such a nerd. “Well anyway, the whole thing’s becoming a bit too much now we’re enjoying Queen so much.” Sipping your drink, you still find yourself a little surprised at your recent disdain for your own subject of choice; it’s not like you at all.

“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Freddie emits, looking positively bamboozled at the idea of doing the thesis himself. “If I had to do that, I think my poor brain would explode!”

You sit there amongst the chatter as it moves away from education, occasionally joining in, but mostly remaining glued to your own thoughts. What would happen if you never completed your doctorate? It’s not like you could never get a job, but it still doesn’t exactly look good to start something without finishing it - and what about your parents? They’ve always wanted you to do well and achieve highly, pushing you to strive for the best qualifications you can get. It’s always been that way. You’d definitely feel like a disappointment if you let them down, but at the same time, it does really feel like music speaks volumes to you, making much more sense than Zodiacal Dust Clouds... Oh dear. Perhaps academia isn’t the route for you after all; you feel as though you might be more useful in the music industry.

The constant back-and-forth going on in your mind starts to wear you out, so you mentally shake it off, bringing your attention back to the present moment. The four of you must have been sitting around in the bar for some time, as not only are there more students around you, buying drinks and chatting away, but the noise of another small crowd is also starting to hum through the open doorway of the venue - people have turned up for the show. Freddie sees you looking towards the sound.

“Sounds like we have a crowd, boys,” he comments, excitement beginning to return to his expression. “We should get ready!” Roger and John nod, finishing their drinks quickly, and you all stand collectively, making your way towards the backstage room to get into your stage clothes. Glancing around the venue as you pass, looking to see if there’s anyone you know, you find yourself smiling as you spot the familiar face of Harry, laughing with a group of other people who, after a moment’s inspection, definitely look like the rest of his group. You’re instantly pleased to see them; Freddie had passed the message on, as promised, when the gig had been officially confirmed, but you still weren’t sure if they’d be able to make it or not - you’re glad to see that they did. 

“Look who’s here,” you announce to the boys, trying to catch their attention, but they’re too far ahead of you, locked in the middle of another conversation, plus the noise of the chatting crowd probably drowned you out. Figuring that you’ve probably got time to say a quick hello, you make your way over to Harry and the group, filing between clusters of strangers. As you reach them, you see that they’re standing in a tight circle, chatting away animatedly, and you feel a little nervous about breaking the barrier. Mentally chastising yourself, you ignore the feeling and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hello guys!” Thankfully, they all swivel to notice you immediately, and bombard you with handshakes as usual; they’re a friendly bunch, and you do enjoy that.

“Great to see you,” Harry says, Charlie adding “you excited to play?” You nod enthusiastically, and Dave winks, saying “I’m looking forward to this - I bet you lot are a real talent!”

“Well I’m glad you could all make it,” you say earnestly, and they smile back, Tom replying “oh, we wouldn’t have missed it, not with all the fuss she’s been making about you.” He nods towards the only person in the group who hasn’t spoken yet, semi-hidden behind some of the taller boys, and she slips between them to see you properly. You can’t help but smile when you see her usual warm expression, and she returns it straight away.

“Hi Brian!” She leans towards you for a hug, and you oblige quickly, not wanting to be as shy as last time this happened. Somehow, she feels taller than before, and when the two of you part, you look down and notice that she’s wearing a pair of dainty, elegant heels. In fact, her whole outfit is quite nice, more glamorous than usual - she’s obviously dressed up for the occasion.

“You look nice,” you say honestly, and she giggles a little before replying.

“Thanks, I thought I’d scrub myself up a bit! Freddie told me to buy the dress, obviously. He’s got an eye for fashion, that boy!” You chuckle slightly, happy to see that she and Freddie have been getting on well.

“Well it is a nice dress, but you always look good, so...” Embarrassment envelops you as soon as you’ve finished the sentence; you didn’t mean to come across that cheesy, and now you feel like a bit of an idiot. Thankfully, she seems to like the compliment regardless, and your social downfalls have been swept under the rug again. Before you can fester in your own shame any longer, she speaks, rousing you back to the moment.

“You’d better get ready, hadn’t you?” she asks, “Aren’t you on soon?”

“Oh, erm...” You scramble to check your watch, jolting slightly when you see how late it is – the other boys are probably dressed and ready by now. “Yes, you’re right,” you agree, half turning to leave. “I’ll see you – well, I’ll see you in a minute, I suppose!” She smiles excitedly, nodding, and you grin briefly at everyone before heading off to the backstage room at a jog.

“Bloody hell, dear, where have you been?,” Freddie shoots as soon as you walk into the room, putting the finished touches to his make-up.

“Sorry,” you reply, “I saw Harry and his band out there, so I thought I’d say hi.”

“Oh, marvellous!” Freddie gushes at the mention of the group. “I’ve been dying to put on a real show for them.”

The pre-gig rituals are a little rushed and stifled; you flex your fingers, hoping you’re limber enough to produce those complex and vital riffs you know are required of you. Now dressed and as ready as you can be, lingering by the stage door, the four of you eye each other with grins, the excitement beginning to bubble up within all of you; this is what you love to do more than anything. Exhaling heavily, you put the concept of your thesis as far out of your mind as possible – this event is the perfect moment for you to forget all about it, and focus entirely on music. Soon enough, a member of the college staff appears to give you the nod, signalling your cue to take to the stage. Taking deep breaths, everybody shares one last glance, eyes shining with relish for what is about to happen, and then strides through the door and onto the stage.

The second you get out there, you feel compelled to look down at the crowd, despite the glare of the stage lights making it a little difficult to see; the room cheers enthusiastically as you all emerge into the spotlight, and the general buzz of the room feels good. Everyone seems to be here specifically for you, all bodies turned to face the stage, all eyes peering up at you with anticipation. This is why you love these college gigs; yes, they’re not exactly prestigious, but a lot of your small fleet of fans tend to show up to them, and the crush of the small rooms they tend to be in gives you a real sense of power, feeling as though you can really bowl the crowd over with your barrage of sound. As this thought runs through your mind, you feel a surge of that power rushing up through your muscles, pooling into your arms and hands, readying you for the performance you’re about to give. As soon as your Red Special is in its rightful place, resting over your shoulder and held close to you, a sense of confidence grows within you, blocking out everything else in the world – it’s just you, the band, the crowd, and the music.

“Good evening, you beautiful people,” Freddie purrs over the microphone, and with a flourish of his arms, raising the wings of his shimmering costume with drama, he looks to Roger, indicating that he’s ready to begin. Yourself and John also cast your gazes towards Roger, awaiting the signal, and he clicks his sticks together, counting you all in. The energy of the whole room lifts up incredibly as the first chord is hit, the cymbals crashing loudly above the growl of your own guitar, and the boom of John’s bass. As the introduction progresses, you hear the crowd starting to cheer, some of them evidently recognising the song, and others simply approving of the sound. Already immensely enjoying yourself, you shoot quick looks at the other members, and each of them sports a different expression, though all of them confirming that they’re feeling the same. The raw power and grit of the wonderful noise you’re making takes you over, and you feel a huge grin growing on your face - you feel at home doing this. It just feels right. The song you’re playing, ‘Liar’, is a pretty strong rocker that shifts effortlessly between soft parts, highlighted perfectly by Freddie’s angelic voice, and heavy, riff-based sections, including a ball-busting bass solo from John, whose on-stage appeal really skyrockets when it comes blasting in. During the a capella section, you look up to see that some of the crowd have started clapping along to the beat, which makes you feel amazing. All too soon, Freddie is raising his fist above his head, locked in eye contact with Roger, and the pair of them slam down as the last chord of the song stabs the atmosphere, dropping the noise level back down to a near silence. However, his doesn’t last very long at all, as a mere second later, the crowd start to whoop and holler in response, having clearly enjoyed themselves. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you look out into the sea of people happily as Freddie addresses them again, talking about the next song. After a moment, you catch sight of Harry’s band, who are quite near the front of the room; they all look quite impressed, watching intently and smiling. This gives you another feeling of excitement – you’re glad your new friends are here to experience this with you.

The bulk of the gig flashes by relatively quickly, though you enjoy each and every song to its full potential; ‘Keep Yourself Alive’, a song you wrote yourself very early on in the Queen days after Freddie had just joined, is up next, full of more delicious riffs. ‘The Night Comes Down’ changes the pace of things, a beautiful soft song with some striking chord and bass combinations; it flutters with grace as Freddie’s vocals soar to their highest. ‘My Fairy King’ also features, a newer song with a lot of group vocals and a strikingly vulnerable middle section, where Freddie sings poignant lyrics of despair:

“Someone, someone just drained the colour from my wings, broken my fairy circle ring, and shamed the king in all his pride, changed the winds and wronged the tides... Mother Mercury, look what they’ve done to me. I cannot run, I cannot hide...”

It’s from there that he derived the surname he likes to go by – Mercury. You storm through several more songs, including ‘Modern Times Rock And Roll’, which is Roger’s chance to shine on vocals, before bashing through a powerful rendition of ‘Great King Rat’, a majestic, up-tempo song with a galloping drum beat, and judging by the loud cheer it generates upon its end, it seems to be a fan favourite. As the gig draws to a close, you find yourself feeling sorry that it all has to end, having had such a good time. However, Freddie’s next announcement causes you to smile on a sudden, having forgotten it was coming.

“We’d like to finish up now with an old song of ours from many years ago… it’s called ‘Doin’ All Right’.”

Another cheer comes up from the crowd, quite a few of them evidently recognising it from your Smile days, and knowing this, the memory of a conversation you had not that long ago comes flooding back into your mind, of when she said she liked it. Casting around for your female friend, you spot her delicate features amongst the crowd, and her face is a picture of surprise and excitement as she hits her bandmates arms and talks quickly, probably telling them all that she remembers it. It gives you a giddy feeling to know that you’re playing something she might have been looking forward to hearing. Freddie sits at the piano and taps out the slow, gentle introduction, as as he begins to sing the words, you cast your gaze back to her as she stands there, already rapt, and watch the smile grow on her face until it’s so wide, she can barely contain it. Christ, she’s even singing along... she knows the words! It feels so indescribable, and as you all slide easily into the verse, you find yourself enjoying this song more than you ever have. The music swells and falls between quiet, soft verses and strong, fast instrumental sections, and you give it your all, hoping to make it a memorable ending for the crowd. All too soon, the song draws to its close, marking the end of the gig. Yourself, Roger and Freddie harmonise perfectly on the final vocal part, Freddie tinkling out the last chords, and the room goes positively potty. The feeling of acceptance and appreciation you get from the crowd is a wonderful end to what was already a great night, and the four of you are all smiles as you wave goodbye and leave the stage, descending into the sudden quiet of the backstage room.

It’s so still and calm here in comparison to the adrenaline-filled stage, and reeling slightly as you come down from your music-induced high, you glance around at the other boys as they all grin, and the four of you share tired yet victorious hugs. Arms around each other, you all seem lost in your own reveries, enjoying how well the show had gone and how much the crowd seemed to really like you, but just as you’re relishing the camaraderie, Roger goes and spoils the moment.

“Eurgh, I can’t wait to get outta these clothes,” he exclaims, visibly sweaty, and breaks the hug, going to look for his spare outfit. The abruptness of it makes you laugh, and the soft moment disappears completely.

“I quite agree,” Freddie says, pulling his winged top up over his head straight away, not bothering to hide himself. You and John follow suit, finding corners to freshen up and change your clothes in, and starting to feel a little more refreshed, especially after John leaves the room and returns quickly with some glasses of water for you all. Now that the adrenaline has properly worn off, Freddie addresses the show.

“That was fantastic, everyone,” he says with a strong air of conviction, a small twinkle of affection for the group in his eyes, “really good.”

“Definitely,” Roger chips in, “I loved it. We were really together.” John merely smiles his usual smile, though nodding in agreement, looking pleased.

“I think we really did something special,” you say with honesty. “I hope we can have more gigs like this.” Everyone expresses their agreement, and the four of you chat a little longer about how the show had gone, your favourite parts, and inevitably, what you might improve on for the next one. After the chatter has died down, there’s a knock on the door, and a few heads peep around; some friends of Freddie had been in attendance and were now coming to congratulate you all on your performance. You all begin to talk as a group at first, but it becomes clear that Freddie and Roger know these people much better than you and John do, as the two of you start to become increasingly excluded from the conversation, not that you mind too much. As the friends continue to shower praise on them, you find your mind wandering, remembering that your other friends might still be here – Harry and his group. Hoping they haven’t left yet, you tell John that you’re going to fetch them, and exit the backstage room. As you emerge into the crowd, several people recognise you, shooting the odd praising comment your way, and saying that they’d enjoyed themselves. You smile in return and thank each one in earnest, pleased to have made such a good impression. Moving across the room, you search the faces, looking for your friends, and thankfully, you don’t have to search for much longer; before you can react, the sole female of the group appears out of nowhere, catching you a little off guard.

“Brian,” she exclaims loudly, dashing towards you, “that was amazing!” Without any warning, she flings her arms around your neck, pushing her full weight into you, and you’re mentally bowled over for a moment, not expecting it at all. However, you snap out of it quickly, hugging her back with a laugh and feeling a combination of nerves and joy at the same time. She grasps you tightly, and you find yourself enjoying her warmth, before she pulls away to look at you while she speaks.

“Seriously,” she enthuses with an animated expression, “that was the best thing I’ve ever seen! There’s no band around here that could top that. The songs were so well arranged, and the sheer performance! Everything was so wonderful!” Her torrent of words keeps coming for a while, and her bandmates draw closer behind her, chuckling at her enthusiasm and waiting for her verbal bombardment to end, knowing that they won’t get a word in edge-ways. You nod at them briefly as you listen to her, grinning, and they return it. “Honestly Brian,” she continues, “Queen have to be the best band around here right now. Your songs are so far above everybody else’s standards. You should all be really proud of yourselves.” The tidal wave of words over, you exhale, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“Thank you,” you respond, feeling inadequate in the face of such praise. “I’m really pleased you enjoyed it. We certainly did.”

“Yeah, you were fantastic, Brian,” Tom adds from behind her, and the other bandmates join the conversation at last, sending more adulation your way. You thank them all for their kindness, happy to see that their compliments seem very genuine. They’re a good bunch of people. When your eyes turn back down to her, her expression softens, having calmed down from her excitement.

“By the way,” she adds, her voice more quiet now, “you’re honestly a really good musician.” You feels your eyebrows arch upwards, and you’re about to modestly refute it, but she continues. “You were amazing up there. I’ve never seen anyone play guitar like that.” You find yourself shaking your head, feeling as though you don’t deserve such a level of praise. “No, I mean it,” she insists, her eyes full of pure honesty. “You’re easily the best guitarist I’ve ever seen.” The statement hits you squarely, and you find yourself momentarily tongue-tied. She simply regards you with her trademark warm smile until you recover.

“I, um... thank you. I don’t think I match up to that exactly, but... you’re too nice to me, you know that?” She exhales a laugh, her smile staying in place, and for a moment, you feel like you could conquer the world.

“Where are the other guys?” Harry asks, drawing your attention back to the group after being positively blindsided by her words.

“Ah, they’re backstage. Do you want to come back with us?” Everybody agrees with enthusiasm, and you lead the way, weaving back through the people still milling around the room. Holding the door open for them all, you allow them to file into the backstage room ahead of you. Freddie seems to spot his new favourite shopping buddy as soon as they enter.

“Darling!” he gushes loudly, whisking across the room and scooping her up in his arms, to which she erupts into giggles, returning his embrace. “How did you find the show?”

“Oh, it was incredible, Freddie!” she marvels back, “you are an absolute prince up on that stage!”

“No, darling,” he shoots back, quick on the ball as ever, “I’m a Queen!”

She and her band stick around for quite a while, everybody taking the time to have some in-depth conversations with you all about the show and music itself. There’s seemingly no end to the amount of praise they can give you, and it makes you feel positively wonderful to know that friends and fellow musicians such as these have such a high opinion of Queen. After chatting to Charlie and Tom for a while, the conversation running dry, you glance around the room absent-mindedly, your gaze falling to land on their female bandmate.

A mixture of feelings begins to churn in your stomach as you contemplate her while she speaks to John; you’ve really enjoyed her company recently, even though you still haven’t known any of the band members very long, and you feel yourself getting a little lost in your jumbled thoughts, unsure of which feeling is most prominent in your gut. However, after thinking about it for a moment, you do find yourself wanting to ask her something. As soon as you think about doing it, your stomach begins to crawl with nerves, and you nearly force yourself to forget about it. However, not wanting to let an opportunity pass you by due to your own anxiety, you take a deep breath and summon some determination from somewhere inside you. Tom and Charlie are now talking amongst themselves, so you feel as though it’s the perfect moment to slip away. Putting on a brave face and approaching her and John, you wait for an appropriate gap in the conversation to jump in. When one doesn’t seem to present itself, you glance down at her delicate wrist, wondering if holding it would be too bold a way to attract her attention. Your face growing hot, you find yourself feeling embarrassed; god knows why you want to do that. Surely tapping her on the shoulder or verbally announcing your presence would suffice? You can’t say what it is, but you just want to make physical contact... Staring at her wrist, until you’re sure it’s about to burst into flames from your intensity, you curse yourself internally and just reach for it. Her skin feels smooth and cool as your fingers slide to embrace it, and she turns to look at you enquiringly as it happens, no reaction other than a slight smile. Phew, you didn’t weird her out.

“Hi,” you murmur, “can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Yeah,” she replies simply, and John smiles to indicate that he doesn’t mind, turning away to join another conversation. You stride across the room to a quieter corner, her following your lead as you continue to clutch her wrist gently. When you come to a stop, you decide to let it go, not wanting to seem over-familiar.

“Well, I’m really glad you came tonight,” you can’t help but say, and she smiles, replying softly, “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. And you played ‘Doin’ All Right’! I couldn’t believe it!” You both laugh gently, nodding, and you take your chance while it’s there.

“Listen, um, I was wondering if maybe – “

Your sentence is cut abruptly short by the sudden noise of Harry coming over, visibly slightly inebriated, slinging his arm around his bandmate in his signature way.

“Get some beer in you, girl! You’re way behind me!” he yells, completely oblivious to the quiet atmosphere in your little corner.

“Yeah, I can tell!” she replies quickly, and the pair of them begin to giggle hysterically as he tickles her. She wriggles and squirms, and then laughs loudly as he picks her up, despite her protests, and acts as if he’s going to throw her. It is a funny scene, but as you watch it unfold, you realise that your mood seems to be souring with every second that passes; playful banter, affectionate jesting... perhaps the flirtatious teasing of a potential romantic couple? Completely lost to your swirling emotions, you find your blood boiling as you watch him hold her, play-fight with her, and then wrap his greedy arms around her as she sinks into him. That’s it - you’re jealous, and there’s no denying it. Swaying under your whizzing thoughts, you wonder when exactly you started to feel like this; when was it that your feelings towards her became romantic? How long have you thought of her as someone you’d like to be more than just friends with? Trying to think amid the chaos, you can’t exactly put a time frame on it, but the more you contemplate it, the more it seems to ring true – you do like her that way. What can you say? She’s sweet, charming, and always so nice to you. She’s also pretty, and her lovely smile never fails to make you uncontrollably smile back. She appreciates real music, and she thinks your songs are worth something. She makes you feel like you’re actually good at something. Laughing darkly under your breath, you wonder if maybe you’ve felt this way all along... there was something about her that made you stand and watch that day in the practise room when you first met, when everyone else went to fetch the gear, and you just stood in the doorway and watched her twirl. Something that still makes you incredibly nervous, yet at the same time, increasingly touched, and eager to get to know her better. Your internal monologue is then ended with a jolt as a scream hits the air; Harry’s trying to pour beer all over her nice dress.

“Go away!” she yells at him with a grin, and he leans down to put his face close to hers, sniggering and uttering “fine!” before bouncing off to annoy someone else. Once the intrusion is over, she immediately faces you again with an apologetic expression. “Sorry about that,” she laughs, a hint of a blush in her cheeks. “What were you going to say?” Disgruntled, you feel as though it doesn’t matter about your feelings now, not with Harry in the picture; they seem incredibly close. How can you compete for her affection with him? However, as you contemplate her gaze, which has returned to its usual manner, warm and receptive to you, you feel your frustration die down a little – you’ve got to try, regardless. You can’t let yourself be shot down before you’ve at least made an attempt. Praying that it’s not hopeless, you muster your courage for the second time.

“Erm, well, I was just wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.” As you say this, you see what looks like both surprise and interest flicker at the corners of her mouth. “There’s a really good record shop in town,” you continue. “It has quite an extensive collection, a lot of old stuff, but it’s kind of hidden away, so not many people I know go there. I don’t know what kind of records you’re into, but… I thought I’d show you, if you’d like to go.” Now that the words are finally out of your mouth, you steel yourself internally, bracing yourself for rejection. You’re not sure how to read her expression for a moment, but then, after considering your proposition, she responds, and it’s not what you’d expected.

“That sounds like fun.”

You almost thought that you’d misheard her at first, your jaw nearly dropping open at the fact that she actually said yes, and you have to pull yourself together pretty sharpish in order to not look ridiculous.

“Really?”

“Of course,” she replies, looking bashful, “I’m surprised you’d invite me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask honestly, wondering why on Earth she’d think she wasn’t worthy of inviting anywhere. “I thought we could spend some time together,” you continue, growing quiet with embarrassment, “since Freddie got you all to himself last week.” You try to inject humour into the conversation by mentioning their shopping spree, and also in an attempt to not sound too forward. It seems to hit the mark, as she chuckles lightly.

“Yes, Freddie’s winning when it comes to hogging me all to himself,” she jokes. “It’d be nice for us to go out somewhere.” Hearing her say it causes butterflies to swarm inside your stomach tangibly.

“Alright, well, why don’t we go at the weekend? I do need to get some more work done on my thesis, but that should leave the weekend free.” As much as your thesis is the last thing you want to think about right now, you have to admit that you need to put your head down and get on with it before going out to have more fun; tonight has been enough of a distraction.

“No, you’re right,” she says with a short laugh, “I need to get some work done too. I’ve been way too focused on music recently!”

“Snap!” you reply, and the pair of you share a giggle.

“Alright, how does Saturday sound?” she asks, and you nod, agreeing that it’s probably the best day to go. She then asks you something that almost turns your face crimson.

“So, should we swap numbers so we can talk about it?” You diligently dictate your phone number to her after she goes to borrow a paper and pen, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel. She then writes her own down to give to you, and you pocket it with a grin, feeling quite pleased with yourself.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you next on Saturday,” she says with a smile, “unless we bump into each other in college again!” You laugh, nodding and feeling slightly exhilarated at the fact that it’s actually going to happen. “Thanks Brian,” she adds more quietly, “it’s really nice of you to ask me.” A little dazed from the conversation, you can’t find any more words, simply shaking your head, and then she pulls you in for another hug. The feeling between the two of you a little different now, you lean into her properly; her scent tickles your nose pleasantly as you rest your face against her shoulder, and as you enjoy the fleeting moment before it’s over, you find yourself feeling equal measures of excitement and trepidation at the thought of Saturday.


	6. Together Took Us Nearly There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story switches back to the protagonist's point of view. Today is the day of your rendezvous with Brian, and you can't help but wonder whether this is just a friendly outing or a date - what is Brian thinking? At the end of the excursion, something unexpected happens, leaving you shell-shocked and making things a lot clearer in your mind.

(The story switches back to the protagonist’s point of view.)

For the umpteenth time, you find yourself peering into your bedroom mirror, looking over your hair, make-up and outfit with an unsure glance. Is it too much? Is it nice enough? Shaking your head at your indecisiveness, you plonk down onto your bed and contemplate your feelings; from the moment you’d woken up this morning, knowing that today was the day that you were going out to the record shop with Brian, you’d been strangely restless, unable to sit or stand still for very long. Recalling the scene with Freddie in the café that day you’d gone shopping, you mentally curse him for ever putting the idea into your head that you and Brian could be more than friends, as that’s exactly what’s done it to you. You’ve spend a good amount of time racking your brains, trying to figure out exactly what it is that you think about him, and every time, you’ve reached the same conclusion:

‘I don’t know him that well, he’s just a friend. Although…’

No matter how you angle it, there’s always an ‘although’ at the end.

‘Although, he is lovely’. ‘Although, he does make me smile a lot’. ‘Although, he’s quite cute, when I think about it’.

Flustered, you wonder if the idea would ever have crossed your mind if Freddie hadn’t pointed it out. Then again, perhaps those kinds of feelings were already lurking at the back of your mind, and Freddie only brought them to the surface? Ugh! You don’t know, and as a result of your inner turmoil, you’ve spent all morning fretting over what to wear, how to look, and whether you should be treating this as just a friendly outing, or as a date. Brian never used the word ‘date’ when he’d asked you, but it’s still a possibility that it’s what he’d hoped for… the idea of him having those expectations causes your face to grow suddenly hot, and you feel a little nervous now at his impending arrival. As you’d swapped phone numbers on Wednesday, Brian had called you to organise the outing properly, agreeing that he’d come and pick you up at home, so that the pair of you could make your way into town together. Now sitting there with nothing to do, having given up on over-analysing your appearance, enduring the wait until he gets here is proving a little tense.

Thankfully, you aren’t to wait too much longer; after a few more empty minutes of sitting there, your thoughts whizzing at a hundred miles an hour, a knock comes on the front door of the house. You find yourself bolting upright immediately, hurrying to answer it, knowing that you’re going to look like a fool if it’s the postman or the window cleaner or something like that. As you reach the foot of the stairs, you catch sight of the partial figure visible through the small glass pane in the door – it’s not the postman or the window cleaner. Brian’s wild hair appears momentarily, waving softly with the movement of his head, and the sight makes you feel excited, though still a little awkward, considering everything you’ve been thinking about. Taking a deep breath, you open the door to him.

“Found me okay, then?”

“Yes, just about,” he replies with a smile, appearing nervous. He clasps his hands together anxiously, but the way the tips of his pointed teeth peek out when he grins is somewhat cute.

“I’m ready to go if you are,” you say, not wanting to prolong the awkward moment, and he nods, stepping back as you exit the house and lock the door behind you. “Thanks again for inviting me,” you add as you swivel back to face him again, and he shakes his head shyly, hair flicking with the motion. It seems as though his nervy disposition has become more prominent than the previous times you’ve been around him recently; you get the feeling that he’d started to relax around you, but today has caused him to backtrack a little. Hoping to encourage him to unwind again, you reach out to hug him, and he complies, his smile widening. As you hold onto each other for that brief moment, you feel Brian’s shoulders sag a little and his breath rush out of him in what seems to be a sigh of relief – he must have been tense, even more so than you. However, when you both withdraw from the hug, he meets your gaze more solidly, and you’re glad he’s starting to relax again.

“Shall we?”

“Lead the way!”

The pair of you make your way to the nearest bus stop, striding a little more quickly than you would normally, due to the frigid air; the snow might have ceased for now, but it doesn’t stop each day from being uncomfortably cold – roll on, Spring. As you reach the bus stop, the pair of you sharing scattered conversation as you wait, you feel a little shiver run through you as you realise that you’ve forgotten your scarf; you haven’t left the house without it recently, but thanks to your muddled thoughts as you’d waited for Brian to arrive, wondering whether to change your outfit again or not, you must have left it behind. Chiding yourself, you try to pull the collar of your coat a little higher, and Brian notices.

“Cold?”

“I forgot my scarf,” you admit sheepishly, rolling your eyes at yourself. Before you can say anything else, Brian wordlessly pulls his hands from his pockets and begins to unravel his own scarf from around his neck.

“No, don’t worry,” you protest, “I don’t want you to be cold either!” Despite your behest, he lifts it over his mane of curls, stepping closer to you. At first, you thought he was just going to hand the scarf to you, but as you raise your hands to take it, he instead places it around your neck. A little taken aback at his sudden boldness, you stand there and allow him to wrap the scarf around you properly, your gaze falling to his chest; this is unexpected, and a little embarrassing, as Brian’s proximity just brings more thoughts of Freddie’s suggestions to come crashing into your head. Shaking them off, you look up at him again as he finishes adorning you with his scarf, smiling slightly.

“Thanks,” you utter, “you didn’t have to.”

“It’s okay,” he replies quietly, “we can’t have you catching a cold.” Smiling and turning away slightly, you notice that Brian’s residual warmth still lingers on the scarf, now wrapped around you; it vaguely smells like him too.

The wait for the bus continues a little while longer, until thankfully, it comes grumbling down the road towards you, and you can finally get out of the Winter freeze. Sitting next to each other as the bus makes its way towards your destination, the conversation seems to die down a little, as the pair of you gaze out of the window in something of a contented silence, though you aren’t sure what exactly is going on in Brian’s mind. It doesn’t take too long to get to where you’re going, and soon enough, you’re hopping off the bus and back into the cold. You follow Brian’s lead, having no idea where this record shop is that he’s taking you to.

“Where is this place, then?”

“Not far,” he replies, looking amused as he adds, “I’m gonna look like such a fool if you’ve been here before.”

“I don’t mind,” you say honestly, “I’m up for anything!” He grins, directing you down a side street, and after another minute of walking, he removes a hand from his pocket again, pointing ahead.

“That’s it, on the end.”

Your eyes follow his pointing finger and find it; at the far side of the block of buildings, the shop looks very outdated, the exterior decorated with dark wooden panels.

“You’re lucky,” you respond, “I’ve never noticed it before.”

“Oh, good,” he grins, “I think you’ll like it. It’s a little different from the usual ones.”

The pair of you stride up to the entrance, Brian leaning in to open the door, turning to you with a smile to let you go first. You find yourself exhaling a small laugh at his old-fashioned manners, taking the invitation and heading inside.

The warmth of the building envelops you straight away, and it’s an incredibly welcome feeling. Taking in your surroundings, you see that the interior of the shop is just as old-looking as the outside had been, ‘retro’, as Freddie would put it. However, rather than being gaudy and tatty, the place has been kept very well; many racks of vinyl records stand in the centre of the room, densely packed and laid out in alphabetical order, and large shelves line the walls, boasting a large collection of what looks like sheet music and all kinds of books relating to entertainment. Between the shelves are large, squashy sofas for visitors to peruse their findings, and a listening booth stands in the far corner, two girls currently occupying it while bobbing their heads to whatever they’re listening to. Everything here looks immaculately kept, and as you inhale the scent of old books and leather, you find yourself starting to like it already.

“This place looks great,” you enthuse to Brian, who’s just appeared at your side after closing the door after you. “I’m not surprised I haven’t been here before, though – it’s quite hidden away.”

“Yeah,” Brian replies, his eyes softening slightly, “I think that’s why I like it here.” He then pads over to the nearest record display, and you follow suit; this is a good chance for the two of you to get to know each other’s taste in music. After a moment, Brian reaches into a stack of records and pulls one out, showing you the cover – it’s ‘Wheels Of Fire’ by the band Cream.

“I really like this one,” he says shyly, grinning, “Eric Clapton’s one of my favourite guitarists.”

“He is really good,” you agree, and he looks a little shy as he adds, “I sort of tried to take after him when I learnt to play guitar myself.” Wanting to boost his confidence in his musical abilities, though you know that he’ll probably just get embarrassed, you make a bold statement.

“Funny, I’d say you were better than him.”

As you expected, his eyes grow wide at your reply, shaking his head as he puts the record back, and you laugh as he mutters under his breath, not managing to actually say anything in response. Not wanting him to fester in his self-consciousness, you move along the rack, pulling out ‘Revolver’ by The Beatles and holding it up to him.

“This is one of my favourites,” you enthuse, and he smiles at the album’s cover.

“Ah, we’re both Beatles fans, then?” You feel a little giddy as you reply, glad to have found a common thread.

“Yes! I just love how they transitioned from the standard beat pop style into the more psychedelic stuff. I think it helped pave the way for a lot of music, don’t you think?” Brian nods readily in agreement.

“Definitely, I think they had an effect on a whole generation really!”

Smiling, you put it back into its slot, and as you move along the rack to browse through the other records, you notice that Brian has gone around it to look at the albums on the other side, the pair of you almost face to face now. After another moment, he grabs another record to show you – ‘Led Zeppelin II’. His face is a picture of relish as he looks at it.

“Such a good record!” he raves with a wide smile on his face. “Jimmy Page is amazing.” His passion for the album makes you giggle slightly, happy to see him coming out of his shell a little.

“First Eric Clapton, now Jimmy Page,” you jest, “are you sure Freddie’s the gay one?” It’s obvious by the amusement on Brian’s face that he knows you’re joking about both himself and Freddie, and your teasing seems to hit the mark; he drops the record back into its place and comes around the rack quickly, and you start to reverse away from him, laughing and knowing you’re probably in for a telling off. Seeing your retreat only seems to give Brian more motivation to close the gap between you, and as you giggle, he reaches out and grabs your arms, playfully alternating between nudging you and tickling your side.

“Listen, you…”

Your laughter fills the air of the shop, both of you growing aware that you’re probably making too much noise, so in the interest of not getting kicked out, you calm yourselves down, Brian withdrawing from you slowly. However, in the heat of the play-fighting, you’d grabbed one of his hands in an attempt to pry it away from you, and looking down, you both realise simultaneously that your hands are still joined. Feeling yourself blush a little, you meet Brian’s eyes, and he instantly turns red in the face, letting your hand go and dropping his gaze to the floor. You feel a little strange about what just happened, and as he smiles briefly before going back to looking at records, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking; Brian’s never been comfortable enough around you to play-fight like that - it was almost like you were with Harry for a moment. He really dropped his guard just then, and it was honestly nice. Gazing at his back as he peruses the albums in front of him, you find yourself really wanting to know if there was any motivation behind it other than to get back at you for teasing him, although judging by how he dropped the act, you’re probably not going to find out. Resigning yourself to putting the thoughts out of your mind, you re-join him at the records.

After the two of you enjoy the shop’s collection a while longer, you’d both decided to buy a record each.

“Great,” you moan jokingly, as you both exit the shop, “after this and Freddie’s shopping extravaganza, I think I’ll be borrowing money for weeks!” Brian laughs softly.

“Well, should we go for a drink somewhere?” he suggests, adding quickly, “I’ll pay for it,” still amused at your complaints.

“As long as you don’t mind, Brian,” you reply, not wanting him to spend his money on you.

“Of course not,” he responds firmly, so you accept the offer with a smile.

The pair of you make your way to a café that’s relatively close to the bus stop you need to return home from, heading inside, where you revel in the warmth for a second time, and Brian’s nice enough to buy you a milkshake. As the place is quite busy, the only free table seemed to be a small booth at the back of the room, where you and Brian are forced to sit side by side. It’s still comfortable though, and the two of you recline into the padded seats, sipping your drinks and chatting about the albums you’d bought.

“Thanks for taking me there, Brian,” you say, “I enjoyed it. I’ll have to go again sometime.”

“That’s okay,” he replies with a shy smile, “I’m glad you’ve had a good time.” He then seems to grow rigid for a moment, evidently thinking about something, and then speaks again. “By the way, I know you’re probably going to say I didn’t need to, but, um…” Bemused, you watch as he reaches into the bag holding his new record and pulls something out, his hands obscuring the cover so you can’t tell what it is. “I got you this.”

Surprised and touched that he would buy you something so suddenly, especially as he’d just bought you a drink too, you look at him in shock.

“Brian, you don’t need to spend your money on me,” you begin, but he laughs and cuts you off.

“I know I don’t,” he says warmly, “I just wanted to get you a present.” Thrusting the record towards you, you take it from him and examine its cover, gasping sharply when you realise what it is; Tony Sheridan And The Beat Brothers. As any dedicated Beatles fan will know, this is a record they made in Germany, way back before they were famous, as Tony Sheridan’s backing band. It’s not a very common record these days, and you’ve wanted to own one for a while – how did Brian know? He must have made a lucky guess after you talked to him about The Beatles earlier in the shop. Feeling very taken aback that Brian would buy this for you out of nowhere, you meet his eyes again.

“Brian, this is too much! How much did it cost?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says shaking his head, “it’s a gift.” His gaze seems to hold something you can’t read.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He eyes the table for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly, before he replies.

“Well, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and you’ve been really supportive of Queen, and you’re always so nice to me too, so I suppose I just wanted to show you…” As he trails off momentarily, you feel your chest starting to swell with an unidentifiable feeling. “…that I appreciate you.”

It seems to have taken Brian a lot of effort to say that, and as he appears embarrassed with himself, you find yourself liking him more and more; he’s so generous and thoughtful.

“Oh, Brian…”

Placing the record onto the table, you shuffle a little closer to him on the seat, reaching out to draw him into an appreciative hug. He returns it, and the embrace feels a little closer than any you’ve had before, your head resting against his slightly.

“Thank you,” you murmur softly, and he responds by tightening his grip around you ever so slightly. For a moment, you’re not sure how long this embrace is going to last, your brain a little confounded at Brian’s kindness and how close the pair of you are, but then you both begin to withdraw. Sitting a little closer to him than you had been before, you notice that his eyes are a hazel colour, a somewhat pretty blend of green and brown. Unsure of what to say, you sit back in your seat properly, taking a sip of your milkshake, before repeating something he’d once said back to him.

“You’re too nice to me, you know that?” Brian’s lips part as he laughs, and you chuckle with him, reaching across the seat and grasping his hand momentarily in a gesture of appreciation. His long fingers close around yours, small in comparison, and as the laughter dies down, you expect him to let go like he did in the record shop. However, he surprises you even further by staying put, his grip relaxing, but not releasing you. Somewhat stunned, and confused about both your own feelings and whatever Brian’s may be, you let him hold your hand a little longer, neither of you speaking or looking at each other, but simply resting in the moment. It’s a little awkward, but at the same time, you feel as though a greater affection is growing between the two of you; whether it’s purely platonic or not, you can’t tell.

Eventually, drinks finished, you’d admitted that it was probably time to leave, and the two of you got up to head towards the bus stop, hands finally parting. The journey back to your house passed uneventfully, and while you and Brian had chatted on and off as you had on the way into town, there seemed to be a strange atmosphere between the two of you now, though it wasn’t unpleasant, exactly. You'd found yourself wishing you knew what Brian was thinking. Strolling along the line of houses together, you reach your front door once again, turning to face Brian with a smile and feeling a little sorry that your day together is coming to an end.

“Thanks for everything,” you say honestly, “I had a really good time. I’m going to listen to that record when I get in.” He smiles at this, his teeth presenting themselves again.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for coming out with me.”

“I suppose I’ll see you again soon,” you muse, “maybe in college?” Brian simply smiles back, exhaling a small laugh.

“Maybe.”

You reach up for one last hug goodbye, and he meets you eagerly, the embrace feeling similarly close to how it did in the café. As you’re both withdrawing again, a flap of his scarf’s material presses against your face, and you realise that you’re still wearing it. In fact, you never took it off since he gave it to you.

“Oh…” You unwind it from around your neck, and he laughs as he watches you, looking as though he’d forgotten himself. You place it back around his neck as he had done with you, going up onto your toes a little to reach his height, and as you close it around him, you realise that Brian hasn’t fully let go of you, his hands resting against your shoulders gently. Looking up at him inquisitively after finishing with the scarf, you see that his eyes are almost glimmering as they gaze at you.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says in a quiet voice, and you nod in reply. Then, for a long moment that probably only lasts a couple of seconds, but seems to stretch on forever, you simply look up at Brian as his hands stay around your arms, getting the distinct feeling that something is about to happen. Drinking in his features, his lovely eyes, his dorky yet adorable mass of hair, you watch as his eyes move down towards your mouth… is he about to kiss you?

As Brian actually begins to lean in, you feel your breath catching in your throat, your mind frantic with thoughts, but it’s not quite what you expect; instead of meeting your lips, he leans down to your cheek, and you feel his breath come shakily against your skin as he gently closes the gap, kissing you softly. Your heart starts to thump audibly in your ears as you remain frozen in place, and Brian begins to pull away while meeting your eyes, not with his usual shy gaze that flits away quickly, but with an intense stare that seems to contain both anticipation and nerves.

In that moment, you feel your inner defences come crashing down, and giving in to the feelings you’d been trying to deny for the last week, you find yourself wanting nothing more than for Brian to just kiss you, properly, right NOW. You feel your mouth tingling as you look up at Brian, your gazes locked, but then the unexpected happens; something unidentifiable flashes in his eyes, his face flushed, and his nerves seem to get the better of him. He inhales deeply, looking apologetic for a quick moment, before spinning on his heel and taking off down the street without another word. Momentarily shell-shocked, you stand there for a few seconds, unable to comprehend what has just happened, watching his back grow smaller as he gets further away.

You’d thought for sure that Brian was genuinely about to make a move on you, so why did he run away? Is he scared? A sudden laugh escapes you audibly as you stand there, your hands coming up to your mouth, finding his anxiety over kissing you sort of adorable. In fact, having been so close to him just now, and feeling almost certain that it was going to happen, you realise that his sudden absence has left you feeling cold, not from the Wintry weather, but from the loss of his body close to yours; it’s undeniable now – you want to be with him. Forcing your legs, which seem to have turned to jelly, to move you towards your front door, you find yourself grinning madly, your stomach performing joyous flips, and not caring that he withdrew in fear – next time you see Brian, you’re going to make it abundantly clear exactly how you feel about him.


	7. So Sad, Her Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from what happened with Brian that afternoon, you jump on the chance to see him again when Freddie invites you and your band to meet them in the Kensington Pub, but several unexpected things come to pass; not only do Queen have an interesting proposition for you, but something's up with Brian, and it's about to cause things to take a turn for the worse.

“Yes, Fred,” you gush with more excitement in your voice than you’d intended, “I’ll be there! I’ll bring as many of the band as I can!”

“Wonderful, darling,” Freddie sings back down the phone to you, “see you soon!” As the line clicks off as he hangs up, you feel your stomach buzz with anticipation; Freddie has just invited you to meet him and his fellow Queen members at the Kensington Pub, and to bring your bandmates along with you, or at least, as many as you can round up on short notice. His motivation hadn’t been clear, keeping the reason a mystery, but his tone of voice had hinted that it was about something exciting. This is intriguing, but on top of that, knowing that all four of them will be there has just made you realise something – this is the perfect opportunity for you to have your moment with Brian! Ever since he kissed you on the cheek that chilly afternoon, you’ve been walking around in a besotted haze, fantasising about the moment you’ll get to see him again and show him how much you return his feelings. High on your excitement, you almost don’t really care if every other member of Queen and your own band is watching when it happens – you just want to kiss him! Laughing at your own delirium, you set about contacting your bandmates so that they can join you in this mystery rendezvous.

Luckily, everybody was free, and after meeting at your house, as you live closest to the Kensington Pub out of everyone, you all make your way there together. The band are chattering away amongst themselves as usual, leaving you as the odd one out - the quiet one of the group for a change; although you’re genuinely interested in whatever it is that Freddie’s summoned you all here for, all you can think about is Brian. As Dave pushes open the pub’s door, everyone filing in after him, you feel your eyes immediately beginning to scour the place for him, and after an awkward moment of the five of you casting about, you spot Roger waving his arms in the air to catch your attention from a table towards the back of the room. The lads emit noises of enthusiastic recognition, and you all make your way over.

“There you are!” Freddie exclaims, standing up and gesturing at you collectively with his arms. “Do take a seat.” Everyone follows suit, greeting the Queen boys briefly, and as you plop down onto the nearest stool, you allow your gaze to rest on Brian momentarily; he’s sitting at the far end of the table, furthest away from you, and the sight of his lovely eyes and familiar mass of curls makes your stomach clench happily. His eyes flit to meet yours for a second, upon which he instantly looks away bashfully, a blush visibly rising in his cheeks. You have to suppress a giggle at this – how cute. You make an effort to calm yourself down, resolving to address the unfinished business later.

“Now,” Freddie says, and every head around the table seems to instantly turn to look at him attentively. “You must be wondering why we brought you all here?”

“You could say that!” Tom replies with a grin, and there’s a quiet chuckle from several of the boys.

“Well,” Freddie continues, “we’ve been having a little chat about gigs recently, and I think we’ve all come to a decision about something.”

“Well the lot of you knocked ‘em flat at Ealing,” Harry interjects, “so I don’t think you have anything to worry about there!” The Queen boys smile in response with small, appreciative laughs.

“I’m glad you think so, dear,” Freddie acknowledges, “but we’ve actually decided to stop doing gigs for the time being.” You feel your mouth open in shock at this unexpected announcement, and glancing at your bandmates, you see that their own mouths are hanging open too.

“No way,” Tom says, “why’s that?”

“We’re sick of not making any money!” Roger quips, leaning across Freddie slightly, and while he grins as he speaks, you can see in all four of the Queen boys’ eyes that they’re in serious agreement on it.

“Yes,” John pipes up quietly, “we’ve been playing gigs for a few years now, and while it’s always been a lot of fun, we’ve sort of struggled along for quite a while, and not really got much out of it.”

“But you have such a strong fan base,” you point out, and Roger is quick to acknowledge it.

“No, we love playing for them,” he replies, “it’s great.”

“Yes, we do,” Freddie agrees, “but honestly, we feel as though we’ve been working our fingers to the bone and not getting enough back from it. It’s very tiring when you’ve done it for years, you know.” Thinking about it, you have to admit that you hadn’t seen it from their perspective before; your own band has been gigging over a much shorter period of time than Queen, having only formed last year, whereas Queen began in 1970, and have evidently been working hard on the live scene here for the last three years. The effort they’ve continually put in, combined with the disappointment you know they probably harbour over not managing to hit it big in some way yet, must have taken its toll. For the first time since you arrived at the pub, Brian speaks up.

“I think we’d also like to just work on our act a little bit, before we play more shows. We’ve been doing a similar thing on stage for a while, so we should introduce some new things and get the whole show more solidified before we go back out again.” Recalling their impressive set at Ealing not so long ago, you feel as though their stage show is already fantastic, but you can also understand their ambitions to make it even better – you and your own bandmates are always looking for ways to improve your act.

“I think that’s fair enough,” you say, “but what does that have to do with us?” A small, satisfied smile creeps across Freddie’s face as you ask this.

“Well,” he responds, “we’ve decided to do just one more show before we take a little time off. It’s going to be next week, Saturday night, at the Pheasantry Club in Chelsea. AND…” He draws out the word, pausing afterwards for dramatic effect, and regarding you all with comically wide eyes. Roger folds his arms with a smirk on his face, as though he’s trying to hold himself back from ruining the suspense. “…we’ve told them that YOU are going to be our support act!”

It seems as though all five members of your band react in the exact same way at the exact same time; all of you turn to goggle at each other with instant fervour, eyes incredulous and mouths dropping open, some of you guffawing in both disbelief and excitement.

“Really?” Charlie asks, “you’d have us on the same bill?” Freddie looks very pleased with himself as he leans back in his chair, beaming.

“Of course, my dears – didn’t we tell you how much we enjoyed you at Whiskey A Go Go last month?” You remember the night in detail, but naturally, a part of you got the feeling that Queen’s praise of your band was partially out of kindness, rather than genuine admiration – Queen themselves are so much more grand than you, and their stage presence and ability to captivate a crowd are beyond anything you’ve achieved so far, so to know that they actually find something enjoyable about your music is a wonderful feeling. To your amusement, it seems as though your bandmates had been thinking a very similar thing, as Dave proves in his next statement.

“No, I see how it is,” he jabs, evidently joking, “you just want a rubbish band on first to make yourselves look better! Don’t lie to us, Mercury!” The whole table erupts into laughter as they bat the notion away with cheerful comments.

“But no, I think it’s gonna be great,” Roger says, once everyone has calmed down. “You will do it, won’t you?” You feel as though a more stupid question has never been asked in the history of the universe.

“What do you think, Rog?” you retort with zeal, “of course we will! This is gonna be amazing!” Your bandmates all echo your enthusiasm with a chorus of agreement, and you feel so pleased that Queen would consider your group like this – what a great opportunity this is going to be.

The nine of you sit around chatting for a couple more minutes about the show – what songs each band will play, how long it will take to get to Chelsea from the Kensington area you all live in, what sort of crowd you think might be there – and among the air of excitement that engulfs the table, you take a couple of sneaky glances over at Brian. He’s engaged in the conversation, but still maintains his apparent shyness whenever you meet his eyes. You imagine that he’s just nervous in the build-up to whenever it is that the both of you finally make your feelings truly known, and feeling your own stomach fizzle, you can understand it. You find yourself almost jumping out of your seat when he stands up, asking the group if anybody wants drinks.

“I’ll help you carry them,” you offer, after everyone barks their orders at him, and he nods in reply, looking a little tentative, before heading towards the bar. As the pair of you reel off the drinks and pay for them, you turn to him, glad to be somewhat alone with him for a moment. “I’m so happy that you’ve asked us to play,” you tell him earnestly. “It might be the best gig we ever do, if we’re teamed up with you.” Brian exhales a small laugh, still looking a little jittery, and turns his attention back to the drinks, which are piling up in front of the pair of you as the waitress pours them one by one. He really is being quiet around you today; is he that nervous? You’re about to say something else, in the hopes of easing his mind a little, when the waitress asks if you’d like to borrow a tray to take the drinks over on, and Brian agrees, thanking her. She reaches behind her to the back side of the bar, quickly producing a small black tray, which Brian takes from her with a smile. As he begins placing the drinks onto it, you find yourself gazing at his eyes, which seem to be pointedly avoiding yours. Unsure of what’s going through his mind, you feel your mouth opening to speak, just wanting to say anything to put him at ease.

“Brian, I was-“

“Can you grab those?”

He cuts you off mid-speech, a very uncharacteristic thing of him to do, and it really stumps you for a second. You look in the direction he’d nodded as he’d spoke, realising that he wants you to carry the last few drinks that he can’t quite fit onto the tray.

“Ah… yeah.” You wrap your hands around the three glasses, taking a moment to concentrate on making sure you’ve got a good grip on them, so that the middle glass doesn’t slide out. When you turn around, drinks now firmly in your grasp, Brian heads back across to the table without another word, and as you follow him, arms rigid in an attempt not to spill anything, a strange feeling begins to wash over you; is Brian trying to avoid talking about that day? He really seems to be going out of his way to make sure you two don’t share anything other than general banter in the group context. Is it really just his nerves, or is there something else bothering him? Unsure of what to think, you approach the table at Freddie’s side, handing out the drinks you’d been holding, Brian doing the same at the opposite end. You try to shoot him an enquiring look before the pair of you sit down to rejoin the group proper, but he quashes the moment by going back over to the bar, returning the tray to the waitress. Taking your seat again and watching him with curiosity as he comes back across the room, sitting down without returning your gaze, you start to get a bad feeling, though you can’t put your finger on what it is exactly.

Now fuelled with alcohol, the boys all begin to chatter again, this time about music in general, as well as other random topics. Any tension between you and Brian seems to have gone unnoticed, luckily, though you wonder if any of the other Queen boys know what he’s thinking – if he told them about anything that happened when you’d met up, if they had any idea what his feelings are or why he seems to have taken to avoiding you. While you don’t mean to be anti-social towards everyone else, you find yourself stealing glances at Brian across the table as the talking continues, going quiet for short moments while getting lost in your circling thoughts. Brian himself almost completely checks out of the conversation, and at one point, you see him fiddling around with something; he’s produced a piece of paper and a short pencil from somewhere, staring at the half-folded page lengthily, while occasionally jotting something down. At one point, you think you hear him humming for a moment, and in spite of the group situation, your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Are you writing a song?” That’s what it looks like to you, and you seem to be correct.

“Yeah,” he emits quietly, looking up at you with something in his eyes, though you can’t quite read his expression. His hands move to cover the paper slightly.

“Oh great,” Roger interjects, hearing the exchange. “I’ve been wanting to write some new stuff.” As both he and John, who are sitting nearest to Brian, cast a glance at the paper in his hands, he slowly removes it from the table, hiding it in his lap so that no one can read it.

“It’s only in the early stages,” he says, evidently not wanting anyone to see it just yet, but nether Roger nor John seem to mind.

“I’ll start writing mine, then,” Roger decides, looking thoughtful. “I was hoping we’d get another chance to record again soon.”

“Again?” Tom quizzes, having joined in on the conversation, and Roger and John nod in response.

“Yes, we got the opportunity to record some songs at Trident Studios last year,” John informs you. “In fact, we’d already recorded some demos in a different studio before then.”

“Yeah,” Roger adds, “that was at De Lane Lea. That’s up in Wembley, though.”

“Where’s Trident, then?” Tom asks, and John replies quickly.

“It’s in Soho, so not too far away.” You have to admit that despite your worry about Brian, this new conversation is intriguing enough to make you put those thoughts aside for a moment; you hadn’t realised Queen had ever recorded anything in a proper studio before.

“How did you manage that?” you ask, imagining that they either knew someone who worked there, or something similar. Small groups at this level don’t often get allowed into professional recording studios unless there’s a personal connection.

“Well,” John responds, “someone from Trident actually saw us recording at De Lane Lea and invited us to sign a management deal with them. It was a stroke of luck, really.”

“Yeah,” Roger continues, “they manage us and let us use the studios, although we’re not actually signed to a record label, so…” When he trails off, John meets his eyes, and they both share a knowing look.

“We can only use the studios when they’re not being used by signed bands,” John says. “So usually, that’s around…” He squints, thinking, and Roger sports a grin. At this moment, Brian raises his head from the song he’s writing to chime in.

“3am to 7am?”

“Yep, that sounds about right!” Roger laughs, and John nods in confirmation. “We’ve had a lot of sleepless nights in there!” The notion of having to perform at your best during those hours makes your eyebrows crinkle in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you actually did it on a regular basis?” you ask, and they all nod again, causing your brow to crinkle further, and Tom to laugh.

“Plenty of times,” Roger replies with a grin. “Those sessions were like gold dust! We managed to get a whole album done.”

“Wait a minute,” you find yourself saying fervently, “you’re telling me that there’s a Queen album, completely finished, just sitting in a studio somewhere, not available to the public?” The look in all three boys’ eyes is one of shared disappointment.

“Well, yes,” John confirms, with a wan smile. “Trident have been looking for a record label to release it, but we haven’t had any luck yet.” The collective drop in energy from Roger, John and Brian indicates that this is something that’s been going on for a while. No wonder they’re disappointed; they officially have their debut album under their belt, with no way to let the world hear it. It must have been a factor in their decision to stop playing shows for a while, and you imagine yourself in the same situation - if your band had recorded an album and had to put up with it being essentially locked in an inaccessible vault, hidden away from everyone, you’d be going mad too.

“So you haven’t had any interest?” you ask in disbelief, knowing exactly how good Queen are.

“No, not so far,” Roger replies, growing a little quieter. Brian lifts his head from his paper once again to chip into the conversation.

“We haven’t had much luck with record labels since Tim left us, when we were still Smile,” he says. “I think we were only given a short contract, just to see how things went, but still, it could have grown into something if it hadn’t ended when Tim left us.”

“Who was it with?” Tom asks, reading your thoughts.

“Mercury Records,” Roger replies, smirking as he looks across the table at Freddie, and all of you laugh briefly at the coincidence.

“That’s such a shame,” you say genuinely, feeling awful about the fact that they could have had a record label behind them while they recorded this album, ready to release it straight away. The music industry is so changeable and fleeting – things like this happen way too often. The boys simply nod in response, looking a little defeated, and Brian goes back to writing his song.

“We did get that one offer from Chrysalis,” John adds, and Roger rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, I don’t think they were really that interested,” he blurts scathingly. “I think they thought we’d just fall to our knees at the idea of anyone giving us a deal, no matter how bad it was. It was a stupid offer, really.” You feel surprised that Queen would turn a deal down, but it must have been particularly bad for them to do so.

“Well, I really hope something comes along soon,” you say, feeling sore on their behalf. “You really deserve to get a record deal.” Roger and John simply nod, looking a bit deflated.

“Let’s hope so.”

Despite the talk turning a little sour at Queen’s disappointment at the situation, the conversation soon becomes enthusiastic again, after Freddie seems to sense the drop in energy, riling you all back up with silly talk and music chatter. However, as your drinks become empty, and Dave and Charlie mention that they both have things they need to do, the lot of you decide to end the get-together for now, agreeing to practise diligently so that the two bands can give a knockout performance in the light of Queen’s temporary retirement from the live scene. Standing up, the boys start to shake hands with each other, and you automatically meet Freddie as he holds his arms out to you for a hug. In the midst of the goodbyes, you find yourself hoping that Brian will want to hug you too, your worries about his demeanour flooding back into your mind. After making your way down the line of people, hugging Roger and John along the way, you reach him, as he withdraws from just having shaken Dave’s hand across the table. He turns to you, and as you look up at him hopefully, you can see the discomfort in his face – there really is something bothering him. However, before you can say anything to him, he leans towards you, initiating a hug, and you’re a little surprised, despite the fact that it’s what you’d wanted; the way he’d seemed so uneasy made it seem as though he wasn’t going to hug you at all.

Eager to make physical contact with him, you sink into his chest, holding him close, but the embrace you receive in return is nothing like the one he’d given you on your day out together; awkward, wooden and somewhat formal, as if the two of you don’t know each other that well – it’s like you’re hugging a stranger. A horrible bundle of nerves and agitation bunches in your stomach as you continue to hold him, wondering what on earth is causing him to act like this. He then begins to withdraw from you, and as you reluctantly follow suit, looking up at him again with a million questions on the tip of your tongue, he simply says goodbye, shuffling around you to fall into step with the other Queen boys as they leave the pub with waves and smiles. As you watch the door close behind them, hearing your bandmates begin to gather their things and talk amongst themselves, you feel your breath coming hard in your throat with frustration and a little sadness – something’s seriously wrong here, and it’s making your chest hurt with longing to know what it is, and how to fix it.

__

Over the next week, your life is propelled by an odd, and often difficult, combination of determination and worry; in the run-up to your joint gig with Queen, your band has been working non-stop, rehearsing with every chance you get, and doing everything you can to make your act as good as possible for the night you get to share the stage with the fellow musicians you look up to most. The five of you have been really together, and it’s been honestly enjoyable and exciting, knowing that you’re all working as one towards the same goal. However, running parallel to this, constantly under the surface of everything you do, is one of the worst feelings you’ve ever had; you haven’t seen the Queen boys since they’d asked you to support them, both bands resolving to knuckle down and stay serious, saving the socialising for after the show. You hadn’t even interfered in each other’s practises, never seeming to book the rehearsal room back to back, and due to this temporary separation, you haven’t seen Brian at all - the silence has felt deafening.

A week has passed since that awful goodbye in the pub, during which he had given you the most unsatisfying hug, one that seemed to treat you like a different person, and left you feeling cold and full of questions. During that week, you’ve been tying yourself up in knots, trying to fathom any sense out of Brian’s actions – why has he suddenly withdrawn from you, after the two of you had gotten so close, you thought you were going to become inseparable? That afternoon you’d spent together, exploring each other’s music tastes in the record shop, sitting closely in the café, and even sharing that eye-opening moment when Brian had kissed you on the cheek, had made things seem as though they were hurtling unavoidably towards the inevitability of the two of you becoming a couple. Even as Brian had walked away, having apparently lost his nerve when it came to expressing his feelings, you had still felt sure that he liked you the same way you liked him, that, given a moment to collect himself, he was going to tell you that he wanted to be with you, even if you had to say it to him first. The way he seemed to snap back to extreme awkwardness, regarding you without much more than obligatory acknowledgement, and skirting around you at every interaction, made no sense to you at all. Did he change his mind? Did he actually never feel that way for you, and is regretful at giving you the wrong impression? Did you do something to put him off? No matter how much you turn the matter over and over in your mind, you can’t believe that he didn’t feel something for you – not after how he acted that day. That kiss had honesty in it, and you’d never seen such a look in his eyes before. He must return your feelings, and yet… things are completely different now.

Unable to talk to him over the week, you haven’t been able to clarify anything. You’d picked up the phone to call him once, but pausing in uncertainty and nervousness for so long, you’d started to resemble a statue, receiver in hand, you’d put it back, unable to dial the number. You did see him, just once; as you’d been sitting in the sandwich bar at college one afternoon, having lunch before the next bout of studying, you’d felt the distinct sensation of being watched, and turning to look across the room, you’d seen Brian standing in the doorway, a small group of fellow physics students around him. His eyes had looked so sad, it almost broke your heart. Immediately wanting to talk to him alone, you’d stood up from your seat, not caring about the curious onlookers as you’d called out to him, but your efforts had been in vain; he’d simply followed his friends as they’d exited the room, not looking back, and though you’d attempted to catch up with him, abandoning your lunch and wading through the mass of people in the corridor, you’d lost sight of him, hovering in the hallway in conflict, before returning to your seat, defeated. The frustration of it all has nearly caused you to tear your hair out, kept sane only by the discipline of your fellow bandmates, focused in your collective effort to improve your band’s show for the impending performance. If it hadn’t been for that, you’re not sure how you would have been able to get anything done. As it stands now, a couple of days before the show, you’re no closer to figuring any of it out, but a huge part of you is begging for this awful stalemate to somehow end.

Laying on your bed, lost in this maze of uncomfortable thoughts, you’re suddenly startled out of your trance by the shrill ringing of the phone. Pulling yourself upright, and feeling a little dazed after getting wrenched back to reality so quickly, you stagger your way downstairs to answer it before it’s too late. Luckily, you manage to catch whoever it is before they hang up.

“Hello?”

“Hello there, my little honey-bunch!” Freddie’s unmistakable voice tickles your ears with a happy-go-lucky tone. “I see I’ve caught you at home, so I take it you’re not busy just now?”

“Not at the moment,” you reply, “the band can’t rehearse until this evening, and I’m not in college today, so I’m just sitting around.”

“Well, I can fix that, darling,” he says cheerily. “Would you come to Kensington Market for a while?”

“That’s not too far from my house,” you muse aloud to him. “Are you shopping?”

“Not quite, my dear,” he says, putting on his trademark air of mystery. “You could say I’ve got something to show you. You’ll have to come and see for yourself!” A little puzzled, you aren’t sure what that means, exactly, but this cryptic invitation is in classic Freddie style, and it’s something you’re getting used to since you’ve become friends.

“Well,” you murmur, checking the time, “I suppose I could come down for a bit.” The idea of Freddie having something to show you is intriguing, but then your stomach clenches when you begin to wonder who else is with him. “Um, is anyone else coming?” you ask tentatively, and thankfully, the reply Freddie gives puts you at ease.

“It’s just me and Roger. The other boys are busy today.” You can’t fully explain the relief that washes over you when he tells you this; you suppose that considering the way Brian’s been acting lately, it might be an awkward and upsetting thing to see him properly again, and though you’ve been wanting to talk to him and work out what’s going on, the thought of being around him does still fill you with a little trepidation.

“Okay, well, I’ll set off now, then. I’ll probably be about ten minutes.”

“Great!” he coos back, “see you soon!” He doesn’t wait for you to reply before hanging up the phone, and laughing briefly at his spontaneity, you replace the receiver and head upstairs to get your things together.

Your guess of taking ten minutes to get there was pretty accurate; after winding your way through the streets with purpose, glad that there’s no more snow to trudge through, you’d made it to Kensington Market. Looking up at the windows of its three floors, you realise that in Freddie’s haste to hang up the phone earlier, he hadn’t told you where exactly to meet him. Casting around, you don’t see him anywhere, so you decide to take a look inside. Kensington Market is very popular, and has been for a few years; in the 1960’s, it was the hub of hippie fashion, and now caters to the modern ‘bohemian’ style, as people tend to call it. You’ve bought some of your favourite stage outfits here, and smiling with nostalgia as you wander around, eyeing the various stalls, you realise that it’s been too long since you were last here – it’s nice to have a look around again. When Freddie had taken you shopping, you hadn’t come here, so perhaps he’s found a stall full of spectacular clothes that he wants to show you? Curiously searching the place for him, you find yourself making your way up to the second floor, but he doesn’t seem to be there, either. Heading up one more flight of stairs to the top, you start to wonder if you’ve missed him somewhere, but then an unexpected scene appears before you as you round the corner; along the line of stalls, merchants attempting to flog their collections to the browsing crowd, you catch sight of both Freddie and Roger, not looking at a stall, but standing behind it – they seem to be running it! A little bemused, you head over to them, and as they notice you, Freddie comes around the front of the stall to beckon you over, pulling you into a warm hug.

“There she is! You’ve found us!”

“Do you two run this stall?” you ask, as Freddie puts an arm around you gently to usher you to stand next to them on their side of it.

“Yes, darling,” he responds, looking a little giddy. “It’s our way of getting the money the record labels never give us!” He laughs, his hands on his hips in mock impudence. Taking a look at what they’re selling, it looks to be a quite hotchpotch assortment of clothing that seems to be rather backdated and very vintage in style. You get the idea that they don’t exactly get their stock from the same place every time, rather pulling bits and pieces from wherever they can snag a few items. Some things look quite cool, but others don’t exactly match the current fashions, and it leaves you wondering how much business they get, exactly. With an amused snort, you imagine Queen dressed in these clothes on stage, and share the notion with Freddie and Roger.

“Oh god,” Roger emits, “I don’t think it’s exactly my style.”

“Well, I’d be wearing the finest clothes, of course,” Freddie says matter-of-factly, a cheeky look in his eye. “You can wear this!” He throws his hand towards the table, gesturing at a rather rigid looking, high-collared shirt. The grimace on Roger’s face says it all, and you start to giggle.

“No way! I’m not wearing that!”

“No, look – we’ve got two,” Freddie teases, pulling the shirt forwards to reveal another, similar one underneath. “You and John can match!” Roger’s disdain, now causing him to roll his eyes and shuffle away from Freddie slightly, makes you laugh even more.

“What about these?” you cajole, joining in by picking up a dainty pair of women’s gloves. You turn to Freddie, playfully indicating that he should wear them, but he waves his hand at them lightly.

“No, I think Brian should wear those.” The three of you erupt into giggles at the mental image of Brian trying to play the fast riffs of various Queen songs with a prissy pair of women’s gloves on, but as Freddie and Roger continue to chortle, you feel your smile fading as the thought of Brian causes a pang of sadness to hit you; just thinking about him in any way, even in the context of a stupid joke, makes you feel awful. Exhaling heavily, you feel your expression darken and your shoulders droop, but not wanting to put a downer on Freddie and Roger’s day, you try to perk yourself up, rousing your attention back to what’s going on. A couple have approached the stall with interest, and Freddie has immediately begun chatting them up, trying to coax them into buying something.

“The thing is,” the man says haltingly, “I’m not sure about the quality of some of these items.”

“Oh, nonsense, darling,” Freddie retaliates with confidence, throwing everything he’s got into his role as the suave salesman. “This is an exquisite Edwardian scarf!” He picks up the scarf he’s referring to, leaning across the table to drape it over the girl, and as he continues to gush, trying his best to talk up the clothes to a much grander quality than they actually are, you find yourself trying not to laugh out loud – it’s quite a funny scene. However, you’re then brought out of the moment slightly, as you feel a hand resting on your arm, and turning in its direction, you see that it’s Roger. He seems to be searching your face with a look of vague suspicion.

“Are you alright?” For a moment, you’re not sure why he’s asking, but after a second, you realise that he must have seen your expression change after Brian had been mentioned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, not wanting to drag him down with it, but your answer doesn’t seem to quell his concern.

“Are you sure?” he presses, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You don’t quite seem like yourself today, and in the pub-“ He cuts himself off as the tears you’d been suppressing for a whole week finally start to rise in your eyes, and you immediately hate yourself for letting them show; the fact that even Roger can tell that something’s going on somehow makes you feel terrible, and your anguish at the whole situation with Brian starts to overflow, despite your efforts to squash it and keep it inside – you just want it to end. Roger’s eyes widen slightly as he regards you with the most serious face you’ve ever seen on him.

“Oh, babe, what’s wrong?” He immediately puts an arm around your shoulders, and as the pair of you glance back at Freddie, you see that he’s completely distracted, still talking to the couple about the clothes, and another person who’d been walking by has stopped to listen to his spiel. Taking the opportunity to extricate yourselves from the stall a bit, Roger guides you backwards until you’re not so much in the forefront of things, borrowing a little cover from the rack of clothes behind you. Thoughtfully, he turns you so that you’re facing away from everyone, and no one will see your glum expression.

“What’s going on?” he asks again, his arm still around you, and you feel your eyes rolling at yourself, thinking that you must look a bit pathetic.

“It’s Brian…” You take a moment to dab the tears away before they fall and leave tracks on your cheeks.

“What’s he done?”

“He hasn’t done anything, exactly,” you reply, trying not to speak too loudly. “It’s just – well something’s happened with him, and now he’s acting really strange around me.” Roger nods vaguely.

“I thought it had something to do with you,” he says, looking confused. “He seemed really weird in the pub last week, and then he was fine until anyone mentioned you, and then he’d go really quiet and sulky.” Knowing that Brian’s been sulking whenever you’re even mentioned doesn’t make you feel great.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say honestly, your words beginning to get faster as you speak. “We were getting along really well, and then he invited me out, and it was great, and I thought he was going to say something, after he-“ The memory of the kiss is a little painful now, and it causes your words to run dry for a moment.

“Did he have an argument with you?” Roger asks, trying to wrap his brain around what’s going on.

“No, he kissed me!” The retort came out much more loudly than you’d intended, but luckily, it doesn’t seem as though Freddie or his small group of potential customers has heard, partially thanks to the general noise level of the crowds in the room. “On the cheek,” you add quickly, after seeing Roger’s nonplussed and evidently shocked reaction. His eyebrows arch, and he looks a little amused.

“That sounds about right for Brian. Did you reject him?”

“No, I-“ The thought of pushing Brian away after a moment like that doesn’t even compute in your mind. “-I like him.” Saying it out loud, especially to one of his bandmates, feels very wrong and embarrassing, but in the seriousness of the moment, Roger doesn’t tease you about it as he probably would normally.

“And you made that clear to him?”

“I think so,” you say, begrudgingly replaying the moment in your head to evaluate what actually happened. “I didn’t say anything, because I thought he was going to actually kiss me, but I-“ The heat rising in your cheeks is rather distracting. “-I suppose I just waited for it. I really thought it was going to happen, but then he seemed to change his mind, and just walked away.” The sight of him tearing down the street in the opposite direction had struck you as funny and somewhat cute at the time, but thinking about it now, it hurts a little. “That’s the last time he spoke to me properly.” Roger gains a thoughtful expression, clearly analysing the situation, and you find yourself looking back at him anxiously, hoping he can shed some light on the it somehow. Thankfully, he seems to have something to say.

“Well,” he muses, “from what I know about Brian, he’s not exactly great when it it comes to girls.” Not wanting to be mean to Brian, you do still feel as though that’s a blaringly obvious statement.

“You don’t say?” Despite the delicate moment, both you and Roger smirk briefly, meeting eyes and sharing a quiet laugh.

“Okay, well, yeah,” he utters, grinning. “I suppose you didn’t need me to tell you that. What I mean is that I think he probably read the situation wrong.” Unsure of what he means by that, your sensitive mind automatically jumps to the worst case scenario.

“You mean, you don’t think he actually likes me that way?”

“Oh, no,” Roger replies quickly, displaying something of a knowing look. “I think he definitely likes you that way. He doesn’t just go kissing anyone on the cheek – we’re not talking about Freddie here!” A small chuckle escapes you again. “I meant that he probably misread it in that he second-guessed himself. He doesn’t have the most confidence, you know.” The statement definitely rings true in your mind, considering the way Brian has acted since you met him. “He probably lost his bottle, and just thought there’s no way you’d have the same feelings for him, and left. That’s what I think, anyway.” You find yourself considering it carefully, wondering if Roger’s right.

“Even still, though,” you say, “if that was the case, I don’t get why he can’t just talk to me. If he lost his confidence in the moment, that’s one thing, but I’ve been trying to talk to him since it happened, and he just cuts me off as though he doesn’t want to be around me. It makes it seem like something else is bothering him.” Thinking about it all makes you sigh again, wishing all of this hadn’t happened. “I haven’t pushed him away at all. If he knows that, then why can’t he just talk to me?” The question makes your chest ache, and Roger sighs too, tutting under his breath.

“I think you need to just confront him about it,” he says with a serious look in his eye. “I honestly think he’s just fooled himself into thinking that he doesn’t stand a chance with you, and now he’s avoiding you to spare himself the pain of being close to you. I know that doesn’t help you, either,” he adds as you grimace at the idea, “but I don’t think he’s trying to hurt you on purpose. You should talk to him – try to corner him when you see him next, so he can’t avoid the conversation.”

“I’m not sure that’ll work,” you say uncertainly, and Roger shrugs.

“Well, you can’t keep going like this, can you? I don’t want my bandmate and one of my best friends walking around all mardy all the time.” Though his tone of voice had been snarky, the affection on his face causes you to soften, surprised and glad to know that Roger does consider you among his best friends.

“I suppose you’re right,” you say, knowing that such a task will be hard to pull off, considering that Brian tends to avoid your every attempt to talk.

“It’s the gig in a couple of days,” Roger points out. “We’ll all be at the venue for a while before we play. Why not try to talk to him then?” Nodding, you realise that he’s right – something has to change. Otherwise, this awful silence between the two of you will keep playing out until you’re stuck that way forever.

“Yeah, I’ll give it a go.” Looking up at him, his arm still around your shoulders, you find yourself really appreciating his care for you. “Thanks Roger, I didn’t mean to bother you with this.” He shakes his head, pulling you in for a hug.

“It’s fine,” he soothes. “I can try and talk to Brian if you like. I won’t mention anything we talked about, if you don’t want me to – I can just ask him what’s going on, and try and get him to do something about it.”

“I suppose,” you muse, “it might help.”

“I will do, then,” he replies with a comforting smile, and you’re glad you talked to him about it; he’s given you a bit of determination to try to pull Brian out of his rut, and get him to tell you how he really feels.

As the pair of you turn your attention back to Freddie, his banterous nature serves to cheer you up further.

“What on Earth have you two been waffling on about?” he asks shortly, though with a smile on his face. “You’re certainly no help – I’ve been trying to sell these things all by myself!” He waves the pair of striped trousers he has in his hand about dramatically, turning his attention to you. “If you’re going to distract Roger, I’m not inviting you again!” Knowing he’s joking, the pair of you start to laugh, which intensifies when Freddie grabs a pair of shoes and thrusts them into your hands. “Here – sell these! Make yourself useful!” You and Roger giggle madly, relieved to be free of the heavy conversation you’d been having, and rolling your eyes and surrendering to the moment, you join in with Freddie’s game.

“Come on, everyone,” you shout in your best salesman patter, “get yourselves some beautiful Edwardian shoes today - totally impractical and suitable for pretty much no occasion whatsoever!” The noise of all three of you barking with laughter fills the room happily.


	8. My Goddess, Hear My Darkest Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for your band to perform alongside Queen at this long-awaited show, and while you're so excited, you're also incredibly nervous, as this is your chance to try to talk to Brian about your feelings and why he's been avoiding you so much. On top of this, Roger reveals some surprising information to you behind Brian's back, and it leads to a revelation.

Saturday; how this day has loomed monumentally in your mind. Tonight, your band will have the pleasure and honour of performing with Queen, an opportunity that all five of you feel very blessed to have landed. Also, on the opposite side of the coin, tonight will also give you the chance that you need to have this important conversation with Brian – if he’ll allow it. The thought of playing the show itself has had you looking forward to it immensely, but your nerves at the idea of cornering Brian somewhere backstage, trying to pry his feelings out of him, has been cutting your confidence to ribbons, like a double-edged sword. You’re not worried about your band’s abilities to impress on stage – only your ability to get through to Brian and change this awful situation for the better. After Roger’s encouragement the other day at the market, you’re definitely going to do your best, no matter what happens. What will come of it, unfortunately, you can’t guess yet.

Grabbing the last few pieces of equipment, you close the door of the van firmly before heading back down the street towards the Pheasantry Club. Though the van is only parked a short distance away, the icy cold wind seems to lengthen your journey with its unpleasant sting. Almost jogging slightly as the doorway comes into view, you duck into the warmth of the building with relief. The first person to notice your entrance is John, who is in the middle of procuring a messy tangle of cables from a box.

“Still cold out there, isn’t it?” he says, referencing your thick coat, and you nod. “Are you going to wear that on stage?” The pair of you chuckle shortly at the image.

“I mean, I could,” you joke back, “but I won’t look very rock and roll! Besides, I’ve got enough to compete with at the moment.” You nod towards Freddie, and John instantly smiles knowingly. Freddie’s ever-present sense of theatre and glamour is always pushing you to try to look your best, in a sort of competition with him, though you’re quite certain that you’ll never win.

“Yes, he does seem to have that effect, doesn’t he?” John replies, gesturing towards the shirt he’s wearing, which, now that you look at it, is quite glam – black, with a slightly deep v-neckline, adorned with a pearly-coloured floral pattern.

“Very nice! It suits you!” you chirp with a smile, and he returns it shyly, averting his eyes slightly. “Anyway, better get on with it,” you add, gesturing towards the mass of cables in John’s hand, and he agrees with a laugh, rolling his eyes at the job ahead of him. Heading across the room and glancing around, you’re grateful that it’s still early enough that no customers are in the club yet, giving you time to focus on what you need to do, and hopefully get your head together a little. You haven’t seen Brian yet, though since John and Freddie are here, you’re guessing the other two must have come down with them. Exhaling and putting the thought out of your mind for now, you start to place the things you’re carrying where they need to go. After a moment, you feel a presence approaching behind you, and turn around to see Harry regarding you with a serious expression.

“Nervous?” he asks, and you get the feeling from his steadfast gaze that he isn’t. Ordinarily, you would share his lack of fear, but tonight has got you jittering slightly, not about your performance itself, but about Brian. However, you don’t want to admit that to Harry; as the lead singer of the group, you want your fellow members to feel confident when they look to you.

“Not really,” you reply, omitting your thoughts about Brian. “It’s definitely a big occasion, but we should be alright.” Harry’s eyes begin to shine as he grins, squeezing your shoulder.

“We’re gonna rock ‘em, don’t you worry,” he says confidently, in his usual carefree manner, and it makes you feel immensely glad that he’s here; Harry, for all his immaturity and nonchalance, has always managed to keep your mind on track. The pair of you have made a good team since you started making music together, and while both of you can be fiery and opinionated, you’ve always enjoyed the way that, when you both want the same thing, he backs you up fiercely, making you feel more sure of yourself. Though you don’t voice any of this to him, he seems to sense your fond feelings towards him, grinning more widely and pulling you in for a hug. You sink into it gladly, feeling a little more calm now, and grateful that he’s on your side.

“Well, better finish setting up,” he remarks as the pair of you withdraw from each other, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah. I haven’t done my vocal warm-ups yet – can I borrow your guitar to sing to? I won’t use it for too long.”

“Alright,” he replies, a cheeky glint in his eye, “just don’t break a string, or I’ll have you fired!” His empty threat makes you laugh, and he smirks before turning away to help the other boys with the equipment. Taking the opportunity to have a quiet moment to warm up your voice before it gets too busy and loud, you step carefully around the various pieces of equipment strewn across the stage until you reach Harry’s guitar case. Clicking the latches open and removing the instrument gingerly, you make your way to the edge of the stage, away from the cluster of activity, sitting down with the guitar across your knee. Mentally picturing your set list for the evening, you strum through the basics of each song, testing out your voice gently – it’s not too bad. It should loosen up in time for your performance. As you continue to play and sing, not doing much in particular other than warming up, you find that the level of stress you’d felt when you’d arrived at the club isn’t quite so bad now; Harry’s support, and the relaxing nature of just sitting and strumming, has taken your mind off of things, and you smirk to yourself, marvelling at the power of music. However, just as you’re enjoying this little corner of peace you’ve found, it’s interrupted by a voice you find yourself almost freezing at the sound of.

“Sounds nice.”

Startled, you hadn’t realised that anyone had been listening to you, lost in your own world, and assuming that everybody else was busy setting up the equipment. Taking a breath to steady yourself again, you raise your eyes to meet Brian’s.

“Thanks,” you reply quietly, taking a moment to try to read his expression; he seems a little awkward, and not his usual warm self, though not exactly cold either – it’s hard to gauge. Before you can wonder any more, he speaks again.

“Is that one of your songs?”

“Yes, we’re playing it tonight. I’m just warming up.” A tiny flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll look forward to hearing it properly, then.” You shoot him a small smile back, mainly out of politeness, as you’re still trying to figure out what’s going on in his head, and the thought crosses your mind that this might be your chance to talk to him about your feelings. However, he interrupts your thoughts again, holding up his Red Special.

“Can I play with you?” The question really catches you off guard, considering how stand-offish he’d been with you for the past week, and how you’d thought that interacting with him at all was going to be a struggle. However, looking at his guarded but somewhat hopeful expression, you find yourself wanting to just accept this moment of connection, no matter what it’s nature may be.

“Okay,” you respond, shuffling sideways a little to make more room for Brian to sit next to you, which he does after climbing up onto the stage. You feel a little strange as the pair of you position your guitars comfortably and rest your fingers upon the frets, unsure of what might come next and how awkward it might be. Just as you’re about to suggest something to play, Brian beats you to the punch.

“Can you play these chords?” he asks, surprising you with his forward tone, and you watch as he plays a set of chords on his own guitar, looping the section around several times so that you can learn it. After a couple of repetitions, you get it, playing along with him. He nods, regarding your working hands with satisfaction, before turning his attention to his own instrument, starting to play a lead line over the top of your chords. A little unsure of what you’re doing, you continue to loop the section he’d shown you as you watch him play around, and the longer it goes on, the more familiar the sound becomes. Just as you’re trying to place the title of the song, Brian opens his mouth, and in a completely unexpected turn of events that slightly bowls you over, he begins to sing.

“Yesterday, my life was in ruin. Now today, I know what I’m doing.”

His voice comes so softly over the guitars, delicate and shy, but the intent behind it, coupled with the fact that this song is one that you love by now, seems to melt any apprehension you’d been feeling towards him, replacing it with fondness. Indulging in the moment, you let your own voice meet Brian’s, singing in unison.

“I got a feeling, I should be doing all right.”

When you reach the end of the vocal line, both of you seem to stop playing simultaneously, gazes resting on each other comfortably for the first time in a week. Though you’re still unsure about everything, you find yourself feeling so relieved that even just this moment is happening; finally, his eyes are meeting yours without shying away. The pair of you then laugh slightly, a little shy and awkward, but having enjoyed the brief duet.

“You should sing more,” you say to him honestly. “Do a lead vocal sometime.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he rebuts, looking down at his knees. “I think I’m better suited to backing vocals.” You can’t help but disagree.

“I think you should try it,” you reply encouragingly, “I like your voice – well, what I heard of it. I’d like to hear it more.” He seems to blush slightly as you say this, and though he doesn’t respond, you get the idea that he still appreciates the compliment. Though casting your mind back to your uncomfortable encounter with Brian at the Kensington Pub isn’t the best experience, you do remember that while he’d been dodging your conversations, he’d also been deep in concentration over that piece of paper.

“What about that new song you were writing last week?” you probe. “Would you sing on that?” As soon as you mention the song, Brian’s eyes shoot up to meet yours, looking slightly alarmed for a second, though he seems to quash it quickly.

“No, Freddie’s singing that one, not me. His voice is a lot more expressive – he’ll do a better job.” His reply seems normal, but he doesn’t explain himself.

“Well, don’t doubt yourself too much,” you say, hoping he takes it to heart, and his gaze softens again when he replies.

“As long as you don’t, either.” The comment surprises you, and as you both regard each other for a long moment, you feel your pulse quicken, wanting so much to just throw Harry’s guitar away and slide your arms around Brian’s neck. Unsure of what to do, you know that you don’t want to push Brian too far and make him withdraw from you again, but at the same time, the air of anticipation that arose so tangibly when he’d kissed you on the cheek, looking down at you as though something more was about to happen, is beginning to build up between you again. Thinking about how wound up you’ve been over the last week, you find yourself just wanting to do something to end that horrible feeling, and put things right between you. Moistening your lips with your tongue and taking a breath, you start to plan what you’re about to say to him, but before your train of thought can form fully, a sudden noise pierces the soft atmosphere.

“Alright, ladies,” Freddie addresses everybody comically, clapping his hands several times to rouse attention. “Soundcheck time! Queen are up first, and then you lot second.” As everyone nods in agreement, moving to follow his instruction, you feel yourself deflate a little, knowing that the moment between you and Brian is gone for now. You hope that the little bubble of peace you’d found together won’t slip his mind, and that he might talk to you again later, so that you can actually put into motion what you’d been about to say. Wordlessly, the two of you share a small, bittersweet smile, before getting to your feet. Brian goes straight off to get on with the soundcheck, so you return Harry’s guitar to its case and hop down from the stage to meet your bandmates, who are beginning to congregate in the middle of the room.

“Shall we get some pre-show drinks in?” Dave asks, and his suggestion is met with approval as everyone makes their way towards the bar. Sensing their high energy levels, and knowing that you’re still feeling a little delicate in comparison, you decide to head to the backstage area to get at least a minute of quiet. Telling them as much, they nod in acknowledgement, and you ask them to get you a drink.

“Let me guess,” Tom says with a knowing grin, “just water?” You laugh briefly, nodding thankfully, and turning to head into the backstage room. It’s only a simple space, but once the door closes behind you against the noise, you’re grateful for the quiet. Plonking yourself into the nearest chair, you find yourself exhaling roughly, releasing any remaining tension from your body lingering from your thoughts about Brian. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and you expect it to be your bandmates returning with the drinks, so you’re surprised when you see Roger jog into the room.

“Broke a stick!” he announces, holding up the splintered shard of wood in his hand.

“Already?” you laugh, as their soundcheck must barely have started at this point.

“Yeah,” he grins, “must have been ready to snap from last time!” He rummages around in a bag for another one, looking up at you with an enquiring expression. “You and Brian alright?” You realise that he must have seen the two of you talking and playing earlier.

“Well, I’m not sure,” you reply, “but he’s talking to me at least.” Roger turns a little more serious as you say this.

“I did end up talking to him yesterday,” he says more quietly. “I just asked him if anything was going on, and he wouldn’t go into it, but I told him to just calm down and talk to you.” Again, you’re grateful for Roger’s friendly support towards you. “He seems to have listened a bit.”

“Well, thanks,” you say honestly, “that makes more sense now. You must have done something right.” Roger nods, but takes a couple of steps closer to you, lowering his voice again.

“Listen,” he says in a near-whisper, “I don’t think he wants you to know, but I’m telling you anyway.” This new direction piques your curiosity, and you lean forward in your chair towards him, listening intently. “That song he was writing in the pub – we’re playing it tonight, and it’s actually about you.” The statement causes you to freeze in place for a moment, staring up at Roger in disbelief; Brian has been writing a song about you all this time, despite avoiding you like the plague? What on Earth could this mean? Instantly, your mind is bombarded with questions, though you know there’s no time to ask them now. As if to prove the point, the door swings open to announce the return of your bandmates, each brandishing a drink merrily.

“About me?” That’s all you manage to sputter out to Roger, and he nods fervently, glancing quickly at the other boys over his shoulder.

“I’ve got to go,” he whispers regrettably, making sure the others can’t hear, “but listen out for it – it’s called ‘White Queen’. I think once you hear the lyrics, you’ll know exactly how he feels.” He then nods encouragingly at you before jogging back out of the room hurriedly, and through the wall, you hear him protest the barrage of complaints from the other Queen boys as he pretends that he couldn’t find his spare sticks.

“Here you go,” Dave says, presenting you with your glass of water, and you take it from him with a distracted smile as you mentally replay everything that Roger just told you; ‘White Queen’? What could that possibly entail? You’re still not entirely sure that you believe that Brian’s written a song about you – such a strong gesture, especially as it’s something the whole band’s apparently going to be performing. Does it mean that he really has feelings for you? You can’t answer that question yet, but considering that this song is about to be unveiled for the first time later tonight, you feel as though the answer is suddenly looming very closely on the horizon.

“Are you listening, or what?” Charlie’s amused voice jolts you from your thoughts, and you realise that he must have been talking to you.

“Sorry,” you emit a little sheepishly, “what did you say?” Thankfully, he doesn’t enquire as to what had been distracting you so much, and as you listen to him talk about the set list and your impending performance, you resolve to stop letting your worries about Brian pry your mind away from the task at hand; you’re here to do your band proud and give this show everything you’ve got, as you always have done. The boys have always been something of a group of goofballs, but seeing them all focus in like this when a show is about to begin reminds you how happy you are to be able to make music with them. Shaking off your distractions, you stand up to join them – it’s time to do what you came here to do, and when it comes to Brian, you suppose you’ll let ‘White Queen’ speak for him.

This mindset carries you through the usual pre-gig rituals, and now that you’re on the other side, dressed in your stage attire and ready to go, you feel yourself totally focused on the set you’re about to perform. Harry, Dave, Charlie and Tom stand close by, clutching their instruments, their faces betraying the smallest hint of nerves, though bolstered by a look of determination. This is probably the moment you love most, besides when you’re actually performing; looking up at them all and seeing the conviction in their eyes, and knowing that you can rely on them, is a feeling that makes this band worth every struggle. Leaning closer to Harry, you find yourself grasping his hand for one last bit of reassurance, and he looks down at you wordlessly with his unfaltering smile, squeezing you back tightly – it’s just what you needed. The door of the room opens, and the Queen boys pop their heads around it with smiles.

“We just wanted to wish you good luck, darlings,” Freddie says with a smile, and all five of you thank them simultaneously as they shoot words of encouragement, Roger giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Brian manages to smile briefly at you, and you return it gladly, feeling ready for anything. As if to read your thoughts, the lights on the stage go down, rousing a whoop of excitement from the crowd that must have gathered in the room – you haven’t seen it yet. Freddie gives one last shout of encouragement as they all leave the room, probably to watch you from behind the crowd like last time, and you fix your eyes upon your bandmates once more.

“Ready, boys?”

“Let’s do this!” Harry shouts in return, and the others share big grins as they nod in agreement, following your lead as you stride out towards the stage boldly, eager to get the show underway. When the five of you appear under the spotlights that mark your entry, the crowd start to clap and cheer, and you take a moment to look at them; the club is quite full, so word about the show must have gotten around pretty well, though since Queen are the headlining act, you aren’t too surprised. This is a larger crowd than you’d had by yourselves at Whiskey A Go Go, and the thought of having more people to impress fills you with relish. You greet the mass of onlookers as the boys get into place, and then the five of you instinctively look towards each other in unison, wordlessly communicating that you’re ready. With his trademark grin firmly in place, Harry starts to pick out the guitar line that introduces your first song, and at just the right moment, everybody else comes in with perfect timing, the noise level soaring to a thrilling height. Your body seems to move on its own accord, swaying under the power of the music, and as you let yourself go with it, you almost laugh aloud at the joy you feel as you watch the crowd inch forwards towards the stage, excited to hear your music; this is it! This is why you’re here, and for the next 45 minutes, nothing else matters – it’s your time to shine!

The time you and your boys spend on the stage is a welcome escape from reality; the five of you thoroughly enjoy every moment, showing off your skills, riling up the crowd and seeing their positive reactions, and feeling genuinely lucky to be able to do this in any capacity at all. Yes, you might not be making a living from it, as most bands hope to do, but you’re here regardless, basking in the thrill of the moment and happy to be able to call it yours. However, all good things must come to an end, as the saying goes, and you soon find yourselves taking your final bows to an enthusiastic audience, who cheer for you as you exit the stage. It’s easily the best crowd response you’ve ever had, and as the five of you reach the backstage room and come to a halt simultaneously, the look you all share seems to marvel at the fact. Slightly breathless and grinning from ear to ear, the lot of you break into high fives and hugs, praising each other on your performances and revelling in the glee you all feel for how well the show went.

“We’ve got to have more shows like that,” Harry enthuses, slightly wide-eyed with awe. “That crowd was so loud!”

“I think what you mean is that we need to play more gigs with Queen!” Charlie quips with a smirk, and everybody chuckles. It’s undeniable that it is Queen’s influence that got you such a large and enthusiastic audience tonight, but it’s only made you more hungry to draw that sort of following for yourselves. As you stand there, winding down from the high energy of the stage and chatting about the show, the Queen boys file into the room to get ready for their own set. Naturally, Freddie is overflowing with compliments to the five of you about your performance, and treats you to another of his affectionate, giggly hugs, which you fall into happily. Knowing that they need to put the finishing touches to their preparations, you give them some space, edging over to the side of the room, where you compose yourselves fully, freshening up from the heat of the stage lights. Soon enough, Queen are ready and waiting for their cue, and as you follow your bandmates back over to give them words of encouragement, your gaze lands on Brian; his curls quiver slightly as he turns his head to face you, and your worry about the situation between the two of you starts to creep back into your mind, now fully back down to Earth after the distraction of the performance – you’ve finished the main thing you came here to do. Now, all that’s left… is this. Feeling your chest tighten slightly, you know there’s no time to say anything now, so it’s going to have to happen after Queen have performed. Swallowing your nerves, you force a smile onto your face as you approach him.

“Good luck,” you say simply, and he returns your smile, a vague conflict in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he replies quietly. “Are you going to watch?” You find yourself smiling honestly this time.

“Of course.” He nods, looking appreciative, and then turns to his bandmates, ending your brief conversation. Watching his back as he talks to Roger, you feel a strange pang of loneliness, wanting to hug him, to be in his arms. However, the stage lights dip once more, signalling the start of Queen’s set, forcing you to push the thought aside. Freddie turns to shoot you an excited, giddy look, and you break into a smile, squeezing his shoulder encouragingly as he walks away, following Roger, Brian and John onto the stage. The noise from the crowd is even louder than when you’d left, indicating that they’re really looking forward to the show.

“Come on,” Dave urges, “let’s get out there and watch it properly!” Met with enthusiastic agreement, he leads the way as the five of you make your way back into the main room to join the audience, who have now surged fully forwards to meet the stage. As you find a spot comfortably away from the main throng of bodies, at a good distance so that you can take in the whole show, a boy you don’t know suddenly leans into your group.

“I just wanted to say – you played a really good show earlier!” He shoots you all a thumbs-up as he says this, and though it’s only a simple gesture, you find yourself beaming widely, thrilled to be complimented on your music by a stranger.

“Thank you!” you gush happily. “We’re really glad you enjoyed it!”

“Yeah, thanks mate,” Charlie adds, as the other boys burst into similar expressions of gratitude. “Always love to entertain!” The boy grins and shakes everybody’s hand in turn.

“Yeah, it was really great. Have a good night!” With that, he withdraws back into the main body of the crowd, leaving the five of you pleasantly reeling from the small, yet meaningful interaction – you don’t often get praise or recognition from an audience member like that.

“Yeah, what you said, Charlie,” Tom jokes with a laugh, “we need to play more shows with Queen!” There are giggles all round, and rousing your attention back to the stage, you realise that Freddie must have already addressed the crowd while you’d been talking, as the band are now blasting their way through the raucous, riff-laden introduction to their song ‘Son And Daughter’. Once again, the air of professionalism emanating from Queen as a whole is impressive, and to a much higher level than your own band, you feel. You understand why they want to improve themselves, as all aspiring bands should, but if they get any better than this… well, London will probably struggle to contain them! Falling back into that feeling of awe you get when you see them perform, you allow the music to move you again, nodding and swaying as you notice that some of the crowd are doing the same thing.

Queen play a similar set list to their last show at Ealing College, though swapping out some songs you’ve heard already for a couple you haven’t; new to your ears is a song called ‘Hangman’, a rocky tune with a slow, pulsing groove, and ‘See What A Fool I’ve Been’, a very raunchy Blues-style song, during which Freddie becomes an absolute diva in every sense of the word, prowling around the stage in a sultry manner, his vocals crooning and snarling until he almost starts to resemble a burlesque dancer. This performance draws out a lot of whoops from the audience, and you find yourself laughing loudly as your bandmates look awkwardly between each other with bemused faces, clearly not sure what to make of Freddie’s feminine strutting. Thoroughly entertained, you continue to enjoy their show, until Freddie begins to say something that brings your mind crashing back down to Earth with a bump.

“Now then, darlings, we’ve got a brand new song to play for you now, written by our talented Mr Brian May.” A small cheer rises up from the audience, and a rock drops into your stomach as you realise exactly what this is going to be. “It’s a delicate little number called ‘White Queen’.” Nerves flooding your whole body tangibly, you try to steel yourself for whatever the lyrics may hold; this song will finally answer your question as to whether Brian truly has feelings for you or not. You dare yourself to glance at Brian quickly, but he doesn’t look up, his eyes fixed upon the strings of his Red Special unwaveringly – it’s almost as though he’s making sure he doesn’t catch sight of you. Whether it’s out of embarrassment or something else, you can’t tell, although you do know that he has no idea that Roger told you what the song is about, so at least he won’t have that pressure in his mind. He begins to pick out a very short introduction, and before you’re sure that you’re ready for it, the song begins.

Freddie’s description of the song as delicate had been accurate; a ballad, the verses weave softly through minor chords, melancholy and sorrowful, offset by louder, powerful sections that sink back down into the sadness again with grace. Though Freddie’s voice carries the words, you hear them knowing that they came from Brian, and the fact that they’re about you almost brings tears to your eyes as you let them wash over you:

“So sad, her eyes. Smiling, dark eyes. So sad, her eyes, as it began.  
On such a breathless night as this, upon my brow the lightest kiss, I walked alone.  
And all around, the air did say, my lady soon will stir this way, in sorrow known.  
The White Queen walks, and the night grows pale, stars of lovingness in her hair.  
Needing, unheard. Pleading, one word. So sad, my eyes. She cannot see.  
How did thee fare, what have thee seen? The mother of the willow green, I called her name.  
And ‘neath her window have I stayed. I loved the footsteps that she made, and when she came, White Queen, how my heart did ache, and dry my lips, no word would make...  
So still I wait.  
My goddess, hear my darkest fear, I speak too late! It is forever more that I wait.  
Dear friend, goodbye. No tears in my eyes. So sad, it ends, as it began.”

A song that tells so poignantly of someone who was too afraid to tell the girl he loved his feelings… and thinks that his chance is gone forever. Worded so beautifully, and so sad, it freezes your breath in your lungs as it comes to a close, your hands covering your mouth to hide your heart-broken expression – Brian needs to know that it’s not too late. After hearing that, you’d be willing to forgive him almost anything. Forcing your breath to rush back into your body, you look up at Brian as he stands there on the stage, looking a little shaken, as though the meaning of the song had affected him too. He raises his head, scanning the clapping audience with a small smile, and his eyes find you for a moment, the pair of you regarding each other with unspoken feelings before he looks away shyly, turning his back as he heads towards Roger’s drums. As soon as there’s a moment… you have to talk to him.


	9. Let Me Hear The Words Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story shifts perspective twice in this chapter, once to Brian's, and then back to the protagonist's. After Queen's set, during which 'White Queen' was unveiled, causing emotions to run high, an unexpected visitor brings a new opportunity to both bands. However, during this, Brian reaches breaking point with his feelings and leaves you behind, leading you to chase after him... but how will it end?

(The story shifts into Brian’s perspective.)

In a way, you can’t believe you actually did it; you performed a song you wrote for the girl you couldn’t confess your feelings to – right in front of her. Exhaling roughly, you take solace in the fact that she doesn’t know that it’s about her, at least, just another song in the Queen repertoire. Looking at her briefly just then, for as long as you’d dared to, she did seem to appear quite sad, but perhaps that was just the effect of the song itself. Baring your soul like that through the medium of music was a very powerful and somewhat unsettling experience, but there’s no time to dwell on it now; while you’d been looking blankly at Roger, thoughts whizzing, he’d started playing the beat to your closing number – a medley of well known Rock And Roll songs. Thankfully, it was supposed to have a drums-only introduction anyway. Setting your mind back to the task, you lock eyes with John, and the pair of you silently communicate in that special way that musicians do, kicking into the first section together. Freddie doesn’t miss a beat, coming straight in with the opening lines of Elvis Presley’s ‘Jailhouse Rock’, and the medley gets underway. This is a fun way to end the show on a high, especially because everybody in the audience will know the songs, and it proves to be a good move, as the revellers start to twist and bob enthusiastically. Enjoying the moment, you smile as you watch the pleased reactions on people’s faces as you plough through more classics, such as ‘Shake, Rattle And Roll’, ‘Stupid Cupid’, ‘Be Bop A Lula’ and ‘Bama Lama Bama Loo’. Freddie also delivers an almost menacingly lascivious version of the Shirley Bassey song ‘Big Spender’, complete with a miniature strip-tease, as he slowly sheds the top he’s wearing to reveal a tighter, sleeveless one underneath. As the four of you crash into the final chord of the medley, signalling the end of the show, the crowd erupts into a loud roar, applauding and cheering, and it causes a big smile to stretch across your face – what a joy this is. If you could do this full-time, as your job, without having to earn money elsewhere to keep scraping by… what a future that would be. Saying your goodbyes to the crowd and exiting the stage, you barely get a second to think before Freddie bursts into a loud speech.

“Now THAT was a show! Honestly, if they actually paid us good money, I could do that every day! Those record labels have no idea what they’re missing out on!” He gesticulates wildly as he speaks, almost as if he’s still prancing around on stage, and you can’t help but agree with him; if you can provoke a reaction like that from an audience, then you must be worth something. Feeling satisfied with your performance and the reaction it got, you bask in the afterglow as you put your Red Special safely away into its case, and take a moment to change your clothes.

“Who wants drinks?” Roger shouts cheerfully, and the room echoes with a resounding chorus of ‘me!’. “I’ll grab them,” he offers, but as he goes to open the door, it swings inwards to his surprise, revealing your support group, who are now bowling into the room en masse. The ‘White Queen’ herself is leading the boys, and the sudden sight of her causes your stomach to jolt uncomfortably – you’re not sure how to act around her, or what to say. Trying to calm down, you remind yourself that she doesn’t know that it’s about her; it’s just another song. Keep telling yourself that.

“Roger!” she blurts as she comes face to face with him. “You did so well! What a great show!” She wraps her arms around his neck, and he hugs her back in return. When her bandmates move forwards to congratulate him next, she comes across the room, making her way towards John and Freddie first. Freddie beams happily as soon as he sees her approaching, holding his arms out invitingly.

“Come here, my lovely!” She races towards him, and the pair embrace each other in a fit of giggles. It does momentarily warm your heart to know that she’s genuinely close friends with your bandmates, not just sticking around because you’re Queen, or because she likes just one of you – all five of the band seem to be invested in friendship with all of you, and it’s a nice feeling. The boys come over to you with their usual handshakes and honest words of praise, and you appreciate it gladly, reminding them that their own performance was very good too. As they move away to do the same with Freddie and John, their presence is replaced by the person you’d been most nervous to talk to. She approaches you slowly, looking a little tentative.

“Brian,” she utters quietly, gazing up at you directly, “that was probably the best show I’ve ever seen.” You find yourself chuckling a little, perhaps out of nerves.

“Didn’t you say that last time?” you remind her, remembering that she did say something to that effect. However, unlike last time, something powerful is swimming in her eyes.

“No, this is different,” she says. “Tonight was special.” Taking in her honest expression, her feminine figure, her meaningful smile, everything you like about her floods your senses all at once, making it hard to think straight.

“I – um…”

Before you can struggle with your words any longer, she steps forward, right into you, sliding her arms around your neck and pulling you into a hug. It catches you off guard, especially as things hadn’t exactly been normal between the two of you recently, but the moment you draw her close, it feels right; as you tighten your arms around her, your fingers clasp a lock of her soft hair gently, her scent tickling your nose in a comforting way, and you feel as though you could stay like this for the rest of the night. Knowing that it’s very likely that nothing will ever happen between the two of you, it’s a bittersweet embrace. The pair of you stay locked like this for longer than you’d anticipated, and still holding you, she speaks into your ear, a half-whisper.

“Can we talk about something? Maybe go somewhere quieter?” You aren’t sure what she wants to talk about, but the thought fills you with a little trepidation regardless. “If you don’t mind-“

“Excuse me, folks,” an unfamiliar voice interrupts, and the two of you withdraw from each other at the sound, looking across to the doorway. Everybody else in the room also follows suit, turning their attention to the stranger, their conversations running dry. “I’m with the BBC, and I’m just wondering if I can take a few photographs of the two bands from tonight’s performance?” The question sort of bowls everyone over for a moment, very unexpected, but ever the professional, Freddie leaps into action, striding quickly across the room towards him.

“Yes, of course,” he agrees confidently, “do tell us where you’d like us to pose.” His answer seems to kick everybody else into action, as they all start to make their way towards the man, who, now that you look more closely at him, does seem to have a BBC tag attached to his jacket. Looking down at your female friend, she shoots you a surprised look before going over to meet the group, and following behind, you find yourself bearing the same expression, though feeling a little disappointed that this has cut short whatever she was in the middle of saying to you – it was starting to seem like it was quite important to her. At the photographer’s request, you all traipse back into the main room, where some of the crowd who’d watched you play are still milling around, drinking and chatting. Making your way through the pockets of people, he addresses you all again after you come to a standstill at the front of the room.

“Could I get some shots of Queen first, perhaps on the stage?” he asks, and the four of you nod willingly, climbing up onto the stage. As you do this, some of the remaining crowd give a small cheer again as they notice you, and it causes you to laugh, waving at them. Feeling naked without your instrument, you follow the photographer’s instructions as he snaps several pictures of your group, Freddie taking the initiative and striking various poses, which you frame yourself around alongside Roger and John. It’s a bit of an awkward experience, but at the same time, quite cool.

“Alright, that’s great, thank you,” the man says with a smile. “Let’s have the other band.” The four of you hop back off the stage to allow the others to take your place, and another cheer goes up when they appear, rousing more laughter. Excited by this sudden and unexpected opportunity, you start to wonder where these photos will end up, perhaps in a magazine or newspaper. This sort of thing has never really happened before, and you watch the other band as they go through the same routine you just did, posing as the photographer directs. After the first couple of photos, Harry suddenly seems to want to play the fool, as just before the photographer snaps another photo, he breaks his pose to poke his female bandmate in the side, causing her to laugh. In response, she shoves him backwards a little, and then the whole band burst into giggles, unable to keep their composure. It’s quite funny, and potentially a bit unprofessional, but the photographer seems to like it.

“No, that’s alright, do something silly! I’ll get a good shot!”

As if he’d issued a challenge, all five of them start to act daft; Charlie, Dave and Tom keep it low-key, merely pulling funny faces and gestures, while Harry goes full force, picking up the singer and swinging her up into the air. She laughs loudly, and once he puts her down, she turns on him, play-fighting until the pair of them are giggling heavily into each other as the photographer snaps away. The sight of it all suddenly gives you the most awful feeling in the pit of your stomach; the way she holds his hands, how his face is pressed against hers as they collide, everything about it, causes jealousy to rush into every fibre of your being – this is why you could never bring yourself to say anything to her. The way they’re so familiar with each other, affectionate, close… it’s too much to take. Feeling yourself flushing with heat and breathing hard, you turn on your heel, just wanting to go somewhere else, where you can’t see him touching her. Letting your feet take you wherever they might, you escape out of the club into the unforgiving Winter cold.

(The story switches back to the protagonist’s point of view.)

Harry finally lets go of you, and laughing off the embarrassment of having him swing you around in front of a BBC photographer, you glance down at the Queen boys to see their reactions; Freddie and Roger are chortling merrily, while John simply smiles, rolling his eyes a little. As your eyes land on Brian, the funny atmosphere seems to slip away, turning very quickly into something completely different; for a horrible moment, it looks as though Brian is glaring in your direction, something upsetting clearly going through his mind, and then he turns away, quickly making his way towards the door. His mess of curls blows backwards as he opens it, the wind hitting him, and he leaves without a single glance back. The whole thing causes your jovial mood to plummet into panic, scared of losing him after you’d worked up the nerve to talk to him about your feelings, and confused about what has him so upset – you have to go after him. Thankfully, the photographer announces that he’s got what he needs, thanking you all, and as your bandmates move to get down from the stage, you race ahead of them, jumping down to the floor like a caged animal just released from captivity.

The moment you burst out of the club and into the street, the cold hits you so harshly, like a physical brick wall, and it’s difficult to brace yourself against, as you’re not dressed appropriately, still in a glamorous outfit you’d brought especially for the occasion, and without your coat. Ignoring the chill already seeping through your bones, you cast quick glances up and down the street, trying to locate Brian – he’s nowhere to be seen. Feeling your hopes begin to crash down around you, you start to walk, looking desperately for him and praying that he isn’t gone, aching to tell him that you need him. The icy wind buffeting you as you search only adds to your feelings of despair, but then a beacon of hope reveals itself; Brian is standing around a corner leading to a side street, leaning against a wall. He looks up at you as you come to a halt at the sight of him, and seeming both ashamed and agitated, he starts to turn away slowly.

“Brian, wait!” His form hovers in place for a moment, his back to you, but after a few seconds, he swivels back to face you, looking at his feet. Taking a few steps towards him, you start to speak, although you aren’t entirely sure of what you’re about to say. “Why can’t you talk to me?” The question hits the air uncomfortably, and he hesitates before he answers, keeping his eyes to the ground.

“There’s nothing to say.” This is a response you can’t fathom, given the way he’s been acting.

“But there must be,” you reply quietly. “I don’t know what you’re thinking…” Opening up to him makes you feel incredibly vulnerable, and you feel yourself getting slightly upset as you talk, unsure of how to get him to tell you the truth. Casting your mind back to Queen’s performance, you realise that there’s something that might. “I know what ‘White Queen’ is about.” His eyes flick upwards to meet yours at the mention of this, and he looks confused.

“How?”

“Roger told me,” you admit, and his face drops even more as he rolls his eyes, possibly at himself, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

“Well,” he starts huffily, regarding the floor again and shifting his weight from side to side restlessly, “you must’ve thought I was a right-“

“I loved it, Brian.” Needing him to know the truth, you had to interrupt him. The words cause his gaze to meet yours again, and he looks so conflicted that you can’t read his feelings properly. Thankfully, he breaks the silence himself.

“Well, I’m glad,” he says haltingly, “but there’s not much point in it now.”

“What do you mean?” He sighs heavily, his hands on his hips as he drops his gaze once more.

“I can see what’s going on.” The statement has you clueless as to what he’s referring to.

“Going on with what?”

“You already have someone.” The words hit you sharply, even though he’d said them quietly, and you feel your head shaking vigorously in response.

“No, I don’t,” you insist, but he seems to snort in disdain.

“Really? With the way you two act around each other? It’s kind of obvious.” The way he says it isn’t aggressive at all, but melancholic, as his disappointment is clear on his face. What’s hurting you more is that you can’t understand who he’s referring to, but thankfully, you don’t have to guess. “I was going to ask you…” Brian trails off, having lost his courage mid-sentence, his eyes closing in pain. “…but I can’t compete with someone like Harry.”

The two of you remain still, like stones in the darkness, as the wind rushes around you both. As the meaning of what he said gets through to you, you find yourself finally understanding everything, all of Brian’s actions over the past week and his feelings clicking into place; this has all been a massive misunderstanding, and now that you think about it, it makes sense that Brian would see it that way. You’d never introduced Harry properly to any of the Queen boys, just being known as part of your group, and it had actually never occurred to you that you needed to tell them your relationship, figuring that it was either obvious, or didn’t really matter. As it turns out, it mattered hugely, as for the last week, Brian has been denying himself the courage to ask you out because of a mistaken belief, and it’s probably your fault. Looking at his crestfallen face, you feel so awful for him.

“Brian, I’m sorry,” you say honestly, “but it’s not like that. I should have said before – I just didn’t think. It’s my fault.” His eyes slide upwards to meet yours once again, and the pain in them nearly breaks your heart, and you have to make things clear.

“Harry’s not my boyfriend – he’s my brother.”

The statement hangs in the air, seeming to freeze time itself. Brian looks right into your eyes, and you can practically see the cogs working in his mind as he comprehends the information. Worried, you hope that for some reason, he’s not angry that you hadn’t told him sooner, but for now, he just regards you with a fixed stare, a look of revelation in his eyes.

“That’s why you always…”

“Why we always play-fight,” you continue for him, “why we’re close, and we like to be around each other a lot. Why we often think the same way… and sort of have the same hair.” With every word you say, Brian seems to accept the notion more and more, his eyebrows arching as he takes you in, seeming to see you a little differently now that he knows the real connection between you and Harry. Still feeling nervous, you aren’t sure what his reaction will be, and what his view towards the two of you is now. “I’m really sorry Brian,” you add honestly, “I didn’t realise that you didn’t know.”

As the pair of you stand there, his gaze moves to the floor, his lips parted slightly as he thinks, and you grow more anxious at his silence. Not wanting to bombard him with more words, you let him be, and wait for him to say something, the goosebumps on your skin growing more pronounced with the cold; the two of you must be mad, standing out here like this. The pause in conversation feels agonising as you let Brian contemplate everything, praying that he’ll forgive you for letting him misunderstand, although you hadn’t exactly known that that was the case. After what feels like an eternity, Brian looks up at you again, and his expression has changed – not sad anymore, but somewhat hopeful.

“So then, you’re not…” He can’t seem to finish his sentence, looking incredibly nervous, but there’s the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you start to realise what he’s trying to ask.

“No, I’m not with anyone,” you reply, feeling the tension of everything start to slide away as he actually begins to smile. Embarrassed, you can’t help but hint towards your feelings for him. “But I’d like to be.”

You can see Brian’s chest moving as his breath quickens, and his gaze growing soft, he starts to step towards you. Suddenly needing to close the gap between you, longing to make physical contact again, you follow suit, reaching out to take his hands once you’re close enough. When he hesitates, you pull him in gently, looking up at him and feeling the exact same sense of anticipation you’d had that afternoon when he’d kissed you on the cheek, so sure he was going to kiss you properly, and begging that it really happens this time. You find yourself speaking, though the heat of the moment causes you to trip over your words, not even sure of what you’re trying to say.

“I really wanted this… I just wanted you to…” Giving up on words, you simply watch Brian’s hazel eyes as they stay locked onto yours. He gently pulls his hands free from your grip, moving them upwards to brush your hair backwards, before cupping your face delicately. His touch is so soft and caring, it almost takes your breath away, and you feel your hands coming up to touch his chest as he looks at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, almost full of wonder. Without any need for more words, he leans down towards you, and this time, you know it’s for real.

Your eyes close, and your lips part in anticipation as he finally brings his mouth down upon yours, kissing you gently, yet firmly. It’s a kiss that seems to carry so many feelings, but ultimately revels in the relief that this situation is over, that you and Brian want each other, and that you can finally put those feelings into action. You both linger for a long time, before parting to look at each other intensely, and the happiness you feel bubbles over, causing you to laugh breathily, and he does the same. His smile is so wide, and you feel your own cheeks beginning to hurt for the same reason. He presses his nose to yours gently, speaking in a whisper.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches in your throat at this, but you don’t have time to reply, as Brian kisses you again, finally finding his courage, and you let his arms move to go around your waist as yours encircle his neck. Completely lost in the moment, you no longer feel the harsh wind whipping your clothes about you as more kisses come, deeper and more intense than the first, the tangible heat between you and Brian keeping you oblivious to the freezing cold you’d felt mere seconds ago. Brian’s lips keep on caressing yours so lovingly, and you can’t seem to get enough of it - despite his awkward nature, he’s actually very good at kissing! Deep and romantic, you never expected him to be so forward like this, but now that the wait is over and the dam holding back your collective pent-up feelings has broken, all of his embarrassment has fallen away, replaced by a quiet confidence – and it’s wonderful. Eventually, the two of you pull away from each other, unsure of how long you’ve been intertwined, and another happy laugh escapes the both of you as you look at each other.

“So,” Brian murmurs with a smile, his eyes tracing your mouth, “you going to be my White Queen, then?” The cheesy comment causes you to giggle, cringing slightly at it, but at the same time, a wave of joy sweeps over you at the fact that he’s finally asking you to be his girlfriend.

“Yes, I think I can do that!” Brian’s expression is more serene than you’ve ever seen it as he smiles back, clearly very happy with your response. At that moment, a particularly strong gust of wind whips the back of you, almost pushing you further into Brian, and he steadies you with his arms – the weather really is awful out here.

“Do you want to go back in?” he asks, and though your answer should really be ‘yes’, having Brian so close to you, away from the prying eyes of everyone else, and so easy to touch and kiss, is throwing all of your common sense out of the window.

“In a minute,” you say, moving your gaze from his eyes to his mouth, and he immediately follows your train of thought, laughing until his pointed teeth show, and giving in to what you both want. It feels as though everything is finally as it should be, and just for this moment, you’re happy to let your bandmates wonder where on Earth you are, as you stay out in the cold, entangled with Brian, the two of you smiling into your kisses.


	10. Won't You Keep Me Company?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two weeks since you and Brian finally got together as a couple, and it's wonderful! Today, Freddie has decided to introduce you to his girlfriend, who you're very intrigued about, and later, you'll be off to Brian and Roger's flat for some quality time, where you get to know Brian better through some embarrassing stories.

Striding down the chilly streets with purpose, you’re glad that you’re not in college today; Freddie had called you on the phone the other night, having apparently decided that you’d known each other way too long without you having ever met his girlfriend – introductions were overdue. That being said, you’re now on your way to meet him at Biba, a rather fashionable clothing boutique that Mary, as he had called her, works at. Biba is a very exclusive and sought-after brand, and has been regarded as quite iconic over the years, having been one of the first shops to make the massively popular mini-skirt available to the everyday woman in the 1960’s. Imagining that someone who works there must be quite sophisticated, you try to picture Mary, but mostly draw a blank – Freddie had never described her to you. However, you can’t deny that you’re very interested in finding out what kind of person she is, as you’ve never seen Freddie with a girlfriend yet, and probably due to his slightly camp mannerisms, aren’t quite sure you can picture him with one. When you’d spoken to Brian about Freddie, not long after you’d met the Queen boys, he’d been quite convinced that Freddie was heterosexual, mostly due to the illicit things he’d seen and overheard while they’d shared a bedroom – much to Brian’s embarrassment, and your amusement. However, Freddie is wonderfully feminine in certain ways, not like anyone else you’ve ever met, and it’s probably due to this that you can’t imagine him taking on a masculine boyfriend role. However, you’re not wanting to judge anybody on their appearances or demeanour, as everybody is different – you’re simply intrigued to see Freddie in boyfriend mode!

After crossing the road, you make your way towards the dark, wooden exterior of Biba, its golden letters emblazoned onto the black background of its sign boldly; if you hadn’t known it was a clothing boutique, you’d have found its entrance rather intimidating. Naturally, Freddie doesn’t seem to be here yet, fashionably late as always, so you loiter outside the building, gazing absent-mindedly at passers-by. Given a moment to wander, your mind predictably begins to conjure up images of the one thing that has dominated your thoughts since that windy night at the Pheasantry Club – Brian. Two weeks have passed since he’d finally kissed you and asked you to be his girlfriend, the truth behind his avoidance of you coming out, and thankfully getting resolved. Even after the event, you’d still been surprised that he hadn’t picked up on the fact that you and Harry are related, as you feel as though the pair of you look similar, but knowing that it was a harmless misunderstanding had made you feel a lot better about the time Brian had been acting strange around you – there could have been a million reasons for his actions, most of them being a lot worse than thinking you already had a boyfriend. All of that behind you now, you’ve spent the last two weeks seeing him as often as you can get away with; after finding out that Brian and Roger share a flat together on Sinclair Road, not too far away from where you live, you’d gone round to visit several times, hanging out and listening to music with the three of them. Naturally, Roger had made many jokes about being the third wheel, much to your amusement, though you’d always kept him around – your friendship with all of the Queen boys is just as important to you as your new relationship with Brian. You do feel as though you haven’t gotten to know too much more about Brian yet, but that will come with time.; for now, you’ve just been enjoying every moment you get to sit with him, hold his hand, see him smile as he looks at you, and kiss him blissfully. To your excitement, Brian and Roger had asked you round to their place again today, and you’d told them you’d be there sometime in the early evening, having already been invited out by Freddie, and speak of the devil – here he comes, sauntering up the street towards you with a carefree smile.

“Hello, darling, I’m so glad you could make it today!” He reaches out to you as he gets close, and the two of you embrace lightly, pleased to see each other.

“Me too, Fred,” you reply contentedly, “I always love our little excursions.” As you part, he regards you with a slightly giddy look.

“So, are you ready to meet my wonderful Mary, at last?” He links your arm and begins to pull you gently towards Biba’s entrance as you nod enthusiastically. Stepping through the open doorway with him, you find your eyes wandering with interest at the shop’s interior; the clothes aren’t displayed on racks or shelves, like most places, but hanging from old-fashioned coat stands, and the floor is a harlequin chequerboard of black and white. Giving off a boudoir-esque feel, and with a certain air of exclusivity, it’s an exciting place to be.

“Freddie, I’ve never actually been in here before,” you admit. “It’s very cool!”

“Oh yes,” he replies with a beam, “they have some lovely things. Famous people come here, you know. I’ve seen a photograph of Twiggy in the restaurant upstairs.” He bats his eyelashes as he says this, looking thoroughly pleased to be in such a place, and you can see why. Before you can say anything more, a shop assistant approaches you, but instead of the usual ‘can I help you?’ spiel, you’re greeted with a fond smile.

“There you are!” Freddie emits happily, slipping his arm from yours to embrace her, and you realise that this must be the mystery girlfriend he’s been talking about. “Darling,” he says, facing you with a joyful smile as he pulls the girl over to you by the hand, “this is Mary.” She steps forward to say hello, and you take her in; long hair draped around her, slightly waved and with a centre parting, small, delicate eyes, and a genuine smile, she looks much more normal and down to Earth than you’d imagined a Biba employee to be.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says warmly. “Freddie’s told me all about your band – I’ll have to see you play sometime.”

“Oh, well, you’d be welcome any time!” you reply, pleasantly surprised at her investment so early in the conversation.

“I do have a few things to do before I finish work,” she says seriously, glancing between the two of you, “but if you don’t mind sticking around for a short while, we can head out together afterwards.”

“Sounds fine, my dear,” Freddie says softly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You get back to work – we’ll be around.” Mary nods with a smile and heads across the room to finish her jobs for the day, prompting you and Freddie to take a casual stroll through the shop, admiring some of the products they have on display. The more you look around, the more you see – the place is quite packed with decorations, all more sumptuous than the last. As you pass by the far wall, Freddie breaks away from you to walk up to a mirrored counter, atop which is a large vase practically overflowing with deep purple feathers.

“See, I just love all of this,” Freddie gushes, running his hand over one of the feathers. “I’ve been collecting things like this for our flat.”

“Do you and Mary live together, then?” you ask, and he nods with a smile.

“We’ve only just moved in, actually,” he says, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I used to live with Brian and Roger, you know.”

“At Sinclair Road?”

“Yes,” he confirms, a look of nostalgia creeping across his face. “We had many a party in that place, I tell you. It was right back when I first joined Queen, when they were still called Smile, in fact.” You find yourself smiling at his memories, always interested to hear little snippets of the band’s past. The friendship and involvement that you have with Queen now is something you hold dear to you, the only shame being that you hadn’t met earlier. Freddie then turns on a sudden, something catching his eye on a rack behind you. “Oh, now, isn’t this something that would just suit your figure?” You watch him with glee as he strides over to the dress he’s eyeing up, fussing over it and holding it up to your frame, and you’re struck with a wave of fondness for him – he’s such a character, and one that you’re so pleased to be able to call your friend. Not much later, Mary finds the pair of you, her handbag slung over her shoulder and her coat in her hands.

“Alright, I’m ready now,” she announces. “Shall we get going?”

“Of course, darling,” Freddie says with enthusiasm, taking her coat from her and holding it out to put it onto her, which she accepts with a smile. “Should we head to a café, or would you like to come back to our flat?” He addresses you with the last half of the sentence, and you have to admit, you find yourself curious to see what Freddie’s Biba inspired decorations look like at home.

“I don’t mind,” you reply. “We can go back to yours if you like.” Freddie seems to like the idea.

“Perfect,” he sings, “we can give you the grand tour!” Mary chuckles and heads towards the doorway, causing the pair of you to follow suit. The walk to their flat isn’t too long, and as you wind your way through the streets, you realise that this is in a similar direction to Sinclair Road. Upon asking the pair how close it is to Brian and Roger’s place, they reveal that it’s only a few streets away, which makes you even more pleased, as you’ll have less distance to go when you go to see them later. As you walk, you take a quick sideways glance at Freddie and Mary; the two are holding hands, chatting gaily away as he asks her about her day, and the more you watch them, the more wonderful a couple they look, rather suited to each other. Freddie loves glamour and perfection, but Mary, though pretty and stylish, is not a overly-posh princess. Her face beaming and attractive, accented with only a small amount of make-up, she’s quite ordinary in a nice, grounded way. The more you see them together, the closer they appear. It doesn’t take too long to reach their flat on Holland Road, heading in together.

“Make yourself at home,” Mary insists. “Do sit down.” As she goes into the kitchen, you take a look around as you plop yourself down onto a sofa; you can definitely see Freddie’s influence in this place. The décor is similar in some ways to the luxurious feel he’d been admiring at Biba, with little touches of glamour in places that add a sense of haute couture to the otherwise plain flat, with its pale wallpaper and small space. Deep red, velvety curtains hang around the window, and Freddie has evidently borrowed inspiration straight from Biba’s shop floor, as you spot some similar feathers decorating a corner of the room. You’re also impressed to see a large, black piano, which is taking up a large chunk of the floor. As if to read your thoughts, Freddie comes to stand in front of you, gesturing to the room.

“So? What do you think?”

“It suits you perfectly,” you say, smiling and casting a hand towards the corner. “The feathers.” He giggles, nodding at your reference to Biba’s aesthetics. “Where did you get a piano like this?” you ask, turning your attention back to it. “Aren’t they expensive?” Freddie folds his arms and shifts his weight to the other foot with a grin.

“Oh yes, I could never afford something like that – it was here when we moved in!”

“That’s right,” Mary chimes in, emerging from the kitchen with a teapot, cups and saucers on a tray. “Apparently, whoever lived here before us couldn’t get it out!”

“What a stroke of luck!” you comment, and everybody chuckles, before settling down on the sofa and pouring cups of tea. As Freddie takes his first sip, he shoots upright, causing you to think he’s burnt his tongue, but it actually turns out to be something he’d suddenly remembered.

“Ah – I’ve got something to show you, my dear,” he says, replacing his cup upon its saucer and getting up to cross the room.

“Is this what I think it is?” Mary calls after him questioningly, and when Freddie nods, she turns to you with a smile. “Freddie’s so good at designing things,” she says fondly. “I think it’s marvellous.” Freddie returns a moment later, sitting down between you and Mary, and clutching what looks like a sketchbook to his chest.

“Tell me what you think,” he says, looking excited, though a hint of nerves seems to show itself at the same time. “It’s going to be Queen’s official logo, hopefully, if the boys like it.” He presents the sketchbook to you, and as you take it from him, you find yourself approving of what you see; most bands tend to have rather simplistic logos, often just the group name in a recognisable font, but this is something much more elaborate. Based around the idea of the royal crest of England, it features a central ‘Q’ for Queen, with a little crown inside of it. Either side of the ‘Q’ stand two lions, much like the royal crest, but the surrounding creatures are much different – two little fairies kneel facing the centre, one next to each lion, and on top of the ‘Q’ sits a crab. Above everything, a large phoenix spreads its wings, encompassing the scene. It’s definitely the most interesting and intricate band logo you’ve seen for a long time, and it makes quite the statement.

“Freddie, this is really something,” you tell him honestly. “I can’t imagine anything more fitting for Queen!” He smiles bashfully, his prominent teeth popping out momentarily, before he tucks them back behind his lips.

“I thought I’d incorporate everyone’s zodiac signs,” he explains, pointing to the different creatures on the page. “So Roger and John are Leos, hence the lions, and here are a couple of fairies, which is Virgo for me – I suppose I just wanted something a bit fantastical – and here’s a crab for Cancer, which is Brian.” He withdraws his hand back into his lap, looking a little shy. “And the phoenix is just majestic, really!” He shrugs as you smile at him, appearing a little embarrassed over your approval, even though he’d technically been fishing for it. Mary puts a hand on his knee affectionately.

“I think it’s perfect, Freddie,” you say warmly, handing the sketchbook back to him, and he holds it up in front of him, gazing at it once more and looking pleased with himself.

“Perfect!” he repeats, placing it onto the table and picking up his cup of tea. The three of you chat for a while about this and that, mostly sharing what you’ve been up to recently. Mary tells you that Freddie had given her a full account of the concert at the Pheasantry Club that the two bands had played together, and genuinely wants to see your band perform, having been disappointed to have missed it.

“I also haven’t heard anything but constant talk about how you and Brian are a couple now,” she adds with a smirk, and while you feel yourself turn slightly red, Freddie claps his hands together girlishly, giggling.

“I think it’s wonderful!” he exclaims loudly, and you laugh as he jabs a finger in your direction, changing his tone to a know-it-all gloat. “I just knew it, didn’t I? Didn’t I say to you when we went shopping that I could tell that you liked him straight off the bat? Didn’t I?” You roll your eyes in disdain as Freddie probes for an answer playfully, admitting defeat.

“I wasn’t sure about it then,” you reply begrudgingly, “but yes, Freddie, you were right, in the end.” Freddie leans back with a smug expression while Mary laughs, and as you feel your cheeks grow a little hot, you hope you aren’t starting to resemble the crimson curtains behind you. Thankfully, the ruckus dies down, Freddie regarding you with an honest smile now.

“No, I’m really happy for you,” he says more quietly, leaning forward and grasping your hand affectionately. “You two are so sweet together.” Your shoulders shake with your breath as you laugh, squeezing him back and smiling in appreciation.

“I can picture you and Brian together,” Mary chips in, and Freddie turns to her with a grin.

“Oh, he’s very taken with her,” he says. “He even wrote a song for her!” Freddie then stands up, striding over to the piano and taking a seat, where he starts to play a solely piano version of ‘White Queen’, to your amusement. Mary watches him with a loving smile before turning her attention back to you.

“I’ll tell you something funny,” she says, “although I suppose it might be a bit awkward. I hope you don’t mind.” You grow concerned at her slightly furrowed brow, shaking your head to encourage her to speak her mind. “Brian and I actually went out for a little while, years ago.” The fact hits you squarely, causing you to go quiet for a moment as you wrap your head around it.

“Really?”

“Yes, it was actually Brian who introduced me to Freddie in the end.” She looks over at him again as she says his name, but Freddie doesn’t seem to be listening, having apparently gotten distracted by the piano; he’s now tinkling away at something you don’t recognise, humming along to it. Mary looks back to you again, looking relaxed, though there seems to be something of an apology in her eye. “We were together for a short time, but it never really went anywhere,” she continues, “so we just decided to be friends. He’s a lovely person.” She nods as she says this, and you do the same, agreeing whole-heartedly. You suppose you and Mary just see Brian differently; to you, he has heaps of romantic potential, but he and Mary evidently didn’t click properly. Looking at her warm and open expression, you start to genuinely like her. Despite the fact that it might be awkward to talk to your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, you find that she’s actually lovely, and seems so focused on Freddie that there’s nothing threatening or off-putting about her at all – you imagine you could become quite good friends.

“Well, I don’t mind at all,” you say reassuringly. “If you got to meet Freddie through Brian, then I suppose it’s a good job you went out with him first!” She laughs, an airy, feminine sound, and the pair of you regard each other with smiles. You stay and chat a little longer, and then you catch sight of the time, stating that you’d probably best be heading over to Sinclair Road, so that you don’t end up getting home too late. Mary stands up and begins to collect the tea things.

“It’s been lovely to see you,” she says sweetly. “You should come round again sometime.”

“I will,” you agree, smiling as you rise from your seat. The movement catches Freddie’s attention, as he pulls himself from the piano at last.

“You off to give Brian a big, fat snog, then?” he says with a cheeky twinkle in his eye, and you bark with laughter.

“Yeah, something like that,” you respond jovially, momentarily enjoying the mental image of kissing Brian, and looking forward to it. Freddie then comes up behind Mary, who is still gathering the cups and saucers, making her jump as he wraps his arms around her waist suddenly.

“And I’m going to give YOU a big, fat snog in a minute!” he growls at her, squeezing her sides, and she squeals, laughing and almost dropping a saucer. As you watch the pair of them, you find yourself enjoying their closeness, and seeing more evidently with every second that passes that Freddie is completely besotted with Mary. It’s so sweet to see, having only seen Freddie around his bandmates or alone, just the two of you – they make a great couple.

After calming down from Freddie’s playful attack, he and Mary had said goodbye to you and sent you on your relatively short journey to Sinclair Road, where Brian is waiting for you. You hadn’t arranged a specific time for you to drop by, as you hadn’t been sure how long you’d spend with Freddie and Mary, so you hope that you haven’t chosen a bad time. As you wait for a response at the door, you realise that you can hear several unfamiliar voices coming from the flat. Just as you’re wondering who they could be, the door swings open, and Roger welcomes you with a boyish grin.

“Look who’s here! Come in, love.” He stands aside so that you can enter the flat, and as you do, you find yourself coming face to face with a small group of boys you haven’t seen before. “Everyone, this is Brian’s girlfriend,” Roger says to the room, and they all step towards you with friendly greetings. “Just got a few people round,” he says more quietly in your ear. “Not a big party or anything, just hanging out.” You nod with a smile, and then a familiar face appears behind the group of boys, one that causes your heart to skip merrily.

“Brian,” you greet, heading over to him through the small crowd, and he reaches out to you, his smile widening with every step you take. When you sink into his embrace, pressing your face into his chest and enjoying his warmth, a sense of relief washes over you, glad to be in his arms again. It’s not as though you haven’t seen each other recently, but as the relationship is so new, and going through that notorious beginning stage, where everything is warm and fuzzy and intense, any time spent away from him is too long!

“It’s nice to see you again,” he mumbles into your hair, and the heat of his breath gives you a contented shiver. You move away to look up at him, and the two of you can barely keep eye contact for more than a few seconds before he leans down to kiss you – something that you revel in, considering how long it took for him to do it for the first time. Parting and smiling widely, the pair of you share a breathy laugh before going to sit down.

Roger and the group of boys you don’t know are locked in animated chat about all sorts of things, and while you and Brian join in at first, you find yourselves tuning out of the conversation, wanting to talk more quietly together. Engrossed in having a good time, none of them seem to mind when you and Brian move across the room to sit on the sofa closest to the record player, and Brian suggests putting on some music. Agreeing, you see this as another chance to get more acquainted with Brian’s music taste.

“You choose something,” you urge. “I want to hear something you like.”

“Alright,” he replies, revealing his teeth as he smiles. He grabs a stack of records from the table next to him, leafing through them until he finds one that he wants to play. Pulling out a 45rpm disc, he turns to you with a smile. “Do you like Smokey Robinson And The Miracles?” While Motown isn’t 100% your thing, the genre has produced some great songs in its time.

“I don’t know a lot of their stuff, but what I’ve heard is pretty good.” He takes the record out and puts it on the turntable, getting it going and placing the needle gingerly at its edge. After a moment of quiet crackling, a familiar guitar introduction comes in, followed by a vocal section you’ve definitely heard before.

“This one is ‘Tracks Of My Tears’,” Brian says. As the music hits the air, some of the boys across the room cast a glance in your direction with fleeting interest, before going back to their conversation. As Brian settles back into his seat after putting the record on, he reaches for your hand, smiling shyly as he laces his fingers with yours, and it makes your stomach flutter. You sit back and enjoy the song, reminded of the good qualities of this group.

“Smokey Robinson has a nice voice,” you say, and Brian nods.

“I used to listen to this song all the time,” he replies, “and I loved Smokey’s voice. Although I, um-“ He cuts himself off, starting to look embarrassed, and you regard him with curiosity, wondering what he’s about to say. “I made a bit of a silly mistake when I first heard it,” he continues without making eye contact, and you swivel in your seat to face him more directly.

“Just say it,” you urge, laughing. Whatever it is, Brian seems loathe to reveal it, though judging by the look on his face, it’s something funny.

“The voice was so feminine, I thought Smokey was a girl,” he admits with a grimace, and you find yourself starting to shake with giggles. “So I thought she was this great, husky-voiced woman, and then found out he was a bloke.” Despite not meaning to, you burst out laughing at his confession, which doesn’t help Brian’s sheepish expression.

“You know when I said about you being the gay one, and not Freddie?” you ask through your amusement, referring to the time in the record shop when Brian had been enthusing over male guitarists. “Are you sure?” You immediately start laughing again, this time at your own joke, and though you try to apologise to Brian, you can’t quite manage it for laughing too hard. Brian simply regards the wall opposite the pair of you, mouth twisted in a wry, disapproving expression, although you can tell that once again, he knows that you’re joking. As if to prove the point, he turns on you.

“Well, I don’t know,” he says, tickling your side slightly and causing you to squirm. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly a bloke, as well?” The ridiculous notion causes your brow to crinkle as you giggle.

“No, Brian,” you say, pulling yourself together and leaning closer towards his face, “I’m your White Queen, remember?” Though a silly comment, it causes Brian to break into a real smile, his eyes moving down to your mouth briefly, and you lean in to kiss him again. It feels so nice to be like this with him, just lounging around and getting to know each other, slowly becoming more intimate with each day that passes. Though never bold or particularly forward, Brian has more confidence around you, now that he knows you really do return his affections, and it’s wonderful to see it grow, little by little. The pair of you continue to kiss until the song fades away to its end, when Brian reluctantly pulls away from you to take the record off and choose something else. He holds the stack out to you, encouraging you to choose something, and though you’d been enjoying the quiet atmosphere that ‘Tracks Of My Tears’ had created, you find yourself pausing when the familiar cover of Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Electric Ladyland’ appears. “This is a great album,” you say to Brian, meeting his eyes, and he nods enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah, everybody in this flat loves it. Hendrix is practically a god around here.” He laughs, taking it from you to put on. After the boomy clunking and psychedelic moans of the introduction, the first proper track kicks in, dreamy, blissful and soulful. The boys all look across the room this time, nodding in enjoyment.

“Ooh, leave this one on!” Roger shouts with an approving grin, and everyone else agrees readily. You nod at them before turning your attention back to the disc, spinning hypnotically. Brian’s hand is intertwined with yours again, and you lean your head against his shoulder with a smile as you unwind, enjoying the loose, relaxing beat of the song.

“This song is so psychedelic,” you enthuse, your eyes closing. “It’s the perfect sound to just let go of everything to.” Brian hums in agreement, the vibration of his voice permeating through you as you rest against him; it’s a nice feeling. As the record progresses, the atmosphere completely changes when the next track, ‘Crosstown Traffic’, comes smashing in, completely polar opposite in its high energy. The pair of you smirk simultaneously as the boys across the room start half-dancing and swinging their arms to the song, air drumming enthusiastically. You shift backwards to look at Brian again. “Well, I guess we can’t change the record now,” you say, referring to the group’s request to keep this one on, “but is there anything else you want to show me?” Brian smiles, picking up the stack of records once again and flipping through them. Nothing seems to grab his attention until a nostalgic blue and red cover appears - the Hollies' first album - and he stops flipping, an amused expression on his face. “What’s funny?” you ask, and he looks to the ceiling briefly before responding.

“You’re getting all the embarrassing stories about me tonight,” he says bashfully. “I’ll be surprised if you still like me after all this!” Playfully hitting his arm, you look at him enquiringly, waiting for him to grace you with said embarrassing story. He fiddles with a corner of the record cover as he stumbles over his words. “I er – I had my first, um…” He starts to turn red as he pauses. “…my first sexual experience while this album was playing.” Whatever you had expected him to say, that wasn’t it, and the delicate confession causes you to both exhale in laughter and look at him softly at the same time. Brian simply keeps his eyes on the record, too shy to look at you. “So, yeah… that was quite memorable.”

“What, the album or the experience?” you quip, and Brian tries to squash an amused grin before he answers.

“Both?” This causes the pair of you to start laughing, although Brian’s laughter seems to be more out of self-deprecation, clearly a bit flustered.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you say through your laughter, linking your arm with his, but his expression doesn’t change, as he closes the pile of records together, burying the album, and putting it back on the table. His bashful shame causes you to laugh even more. “Oh, Brian, you’re so cute sometimes.” Putting your arms around his neck and leaning into him, he relaxes, chuckling as his arms come around you, and he shakes his head, his curls sweeping against your face briefly. As you embrace, the laughter subsides, and relaxing back into the somewhat peaceful atmosphere, the Hendrix record playing quietly and the boys chatting across the room, you start to feel really at home, here in Brian’s arms, just being yourselves. Brian seems to be having a similar train of thought, as he strokes your back slowly, leaning into you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly, and it sends waves of joy running through you.

“Me too,” you reply, looking up at him, and although you know that relatively soon, you’re going to have to make your way home, you ignore that fact for now, wanting nothing more than to just be close to Brian like this. His eyes regard you warmly, full of affection, and start to close as he leans in for more kisses. Revelling in the softness of his lips and his gentle touch, you feel as though you could stay here forever.


	11. Take Me To The Dreamer's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's invited you on your first proper date after becoming a couple, and you can't wait. However, your romantic plans clash with band practise, and Harry sulks, wanting you to focus on the band. However, you manage to talk your way around it so that you can do both, and the date with Brian ensues... but how will it go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to my suffering readers who had to put up with almost a month of no updates - I'M SORRY! I was on a long holiday in Japan for weeks and had no chance to write, and was also quite busy when I got back. However, my Bri fic is back on track, so please enjoy! <3

It’s late afternoon, and though the rest of the house reposes in its usual quiet atmosphere, the air of your bedroom vibrates with the familiar twang of guitars; after coming home from college together, you and Harry had decided to have a little impromptu band practise, just the two of you. It’s certainly not the first time this has happened, as due to your various college and work commitments, the band often struggles to get together as a whole to visit the practise rooms. This has lead to many an acoustic practise at home, keeping the pair of you on your toes, and growing closer as a unit. In fact, jamming away with Harry like this is quite nostalgic, and as the two of you continue to play together, you find yourself recalling the fond memories of how your collective musical journey had started; Harry getting his first guitar as a Christmas present, after going on and on about wanting to be like George Harrison from The Beatles, the two of you sharing it as you’d both learnt how to play, you receiving your own guitar the following Christmas due to Harry’s complaints of you wanting to borrow it too often, the two of you beginning to write your first songs together, realising what a good duo you were, and eventually, forming a band with friends from your old school. It had all been so exciting, as if the two of you were on the path to something incredible, and while the struggle of trying to make your band known is ever present in your mind, you like to keep that little spark of naive optimism alive in your heart, hoping that one day, the dream might just come true. A smile grows upon your face as you sing along to the song you’re currently playing, temporarily taking over the responsibility of Dave’s rhythm guitar parts, while Harry does his usual lead sections. When the song ends, you both share a satisfied grin, pleased at your unfailing synchronicity.

“Sounding good, sis,” Harry comments, nodding his head and turning his attention back down to the list of songs scribbled down in front of the two of you. “I think we’ve done ‘em all.”

“Are there any you want to go back over?” you ask, but as you’d half expected, he shakes his head, his messy hair flailing around.

“Nah, I think we’ll be fine. We’re always fine.” He shoots you a grin, and you return it readily, knowing he’s referring to the way the two of you, with your sibling-generated closeness and joint study of music and song writing, always seem to pull through and perform well in any circumstance. Harry then exhales a laugh, adding “don’t know about the other three, though!”

“Yeah, we need to try and have a practise this weekend,” you reply with a giggle. It’s not so bad for the two of you, as you live together and don’t have to worry about how you’re going to see each other next, but for Dave, Tom and Charlie, it’s a different situation. The three of them all living a little way apart, and Charlie only being able to play his drums in the tiny shed in his back garden when the practise room is unavailable, makes it a little awkward for the five of you to get together in one place. Add their work schedules to the mix, and it’s even tougher.

“Actually, I was hoping we could practise tomorrow night,” Harry chimes in, sliding his guitar off his leg and onto the bed. “I think everyone’s free.”

“Oh, not tomorrow night,” you protest, “I’m supposed to be going out with Brian!” As soon as you say this, Harry’s eyes roll back into his head in an over-exaggerated manner, and he huffs and throws his hands into the air.

“For god’s sake, woman,” he groans, “can’t you stay away from him for five minutes? We haven’t practised at all this week yet!”

“I know that,” you retort lightly, “but Brian’s already asked me – we’ve agreed on it. And don’t ‘woman’ me.” You land a kick softly on Harry’s shin, and he sighs again, not affected by the blow, though you hadn’t really intended to hurt him.

“You’ve been spending so much time with him, though,” he continues, averting his gaze to contemplate your wardrobe. “We need to get stuff done. Aren’t you taking the band seriously?” This time, your foot flies at him with force, almost of its own accord, in reaction to his insinuation – the idea that you don’t care about something as important to you as the band anymore, just because you have a new boyfriend, is almost a bit offensive to you. Harry jolts upwards slightly as the kick connects with his shin again, though he doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply quietly, knowing that he’s just being stubborn. “It’s always the most important thing. I’ve just already made plans tomorrow night – he’s taking me to the Belvedere restaurant in Holland Park! We’re going on our first proper date as a couple!” Your excitement at the prospect creeps into your voice, growing louder as you speak. A couple of days ago, Brian had called you and asked if you’d like to go out for a meal, a change of pace from your recent visits to Sinclair Road, and you’d jumped at the chance, excited to go on a real date with him. Friday night had seemed the best time to arrange it for, as the two of you would be finished with your studies for the day, leaving the weekend open for your respective bands’ activities. Unfortunately, Harry seems to want to do it the other way around.

“Well, that’s delightful,” Harry replies sarcastically, “but I don’t know if everyone else is free on the weekend. That’s why I wanted to do it after college tomorrow night – catch everyone before they go off doing family stuff, or whatever.” He has a point, but it really throws a spanner in the works for your date with Brian.

“Well, how about this,” you say, trying to fix the situation. “If I call everyone now, and ask them if they’re free on Saturday morning, we could book the practise room then, and have a good session that still leaves most of the day free. That way everyone can still do other things, if they need to.” Harry’s expression sinks into one of disdain.

“Morning?” You find yourself laughing as you realise that he doesn’t want to give up his beloved Saturday morning lie-in – how lazy.

“Oh, come on,” you goad, “it’s not that bad. The practise rooms open at 10 o’clock.” Harry rolls his eyes again, moving to recline on an elbow across your bed as he mulls it over. He clearly isn’t happy with the situation, and as he maintains his silence, you find your patience with him wearing thinner, his stubbornness getting annoying. “Come on, Harry,” you find yourself exclaiming, “I’ve only been with Brian for about two weeks! Just let me enjoy it. I won’t put the band on the back-burner, I promise.” His eyes slide to gaze at you coolly, still appearing unimpressed. “We can have two practises next week,” you continue more quietly, trying to appeal to him. “Besides, I’m not going to be going out with Brian every night, especially not in a couple of months – we’ve got final exams coming up.”

“Oh god,” Harry emits loudly, his eyes growing wide in distress at your words, “don’t remind me!”

Never the particularly academic type, Harry had gotten through school well enough, but hadn’t wanted to further his education, at the behest of your mother. He’d gone straight to work after graduating, taking up a boring job in a factory, but once you’d gotten into Imperial College to begin your biology degree, you and your mother had managed to convince him to join you and give some more studies a go, although your motivation had probably been more about being close to your brother than wanting him to get qualifications. As a result, you’d ended up in the same academic year, despite his being two years older than you. He did seem to knuckle down at first, but especially since the two of you formed your band, you rather suspect that studying hasn’t exactly been on Harry’s list of priorities. Whatever he does is his decision, but you hope he doesn’t totally flunk it in the end. Studying isn’t something you love to do either, but you do appreciate your mother’s wish to see you well qualified, and besides, it’s always good to finish what you start. Harry sits up again, looking a little defeated, and regards you with a begrudging expression.

“Alright,” he concedes, “well, give everyone a call, then. If we can get the practise room on Saturday morning, we’ll do it then, and you can have your thing with Brian. If Saturday’s no good though-“ His gaze turns a little sour. “-you’d better come on Friday.” Annoyed at his threat, but not wanting to rise to it, you remove yourself from the bed where you’d both been sitting, making your way to the phone in the downstairs hallway. As you’d dialled Charlie’s number, Harry had appeared, sitting on the stairs next to you to listen, still looking sulky. Ignoring him, you turn to face the phone as you make the calls. Thankfully, it seems as though the rest of the band like the idea of practising on Saturday morning, and using the rest of the day for other things. As you finish confirming it with them all, you turn to Harry with a smug ‘I-told-you-so’ look, and he replies with an obscene hand gesture. Eventually, you make the final call to the practise hall, mentally crossing your fingers for events to go your way, and it quickly becomes apparent that today must be your lucky day.

“11 o’clock on Saturday?” you repeat back to the man on the phone, turning and eyeing Harry with a hopeful, questioning look, hoping that he’ll confirm. He shrugs, rolling his eyes for a third time, and nods, giving you his begrudging permission to book it. Relieved, you turn your attention back to the phone, making the booking and hanging up with an accomplished grin.

“There,” you say, “now we can do both.” Harry’s face is still a picture of disdain, but he stands up, thrusting his hand into his pocket and procuring a random guitar pick, which he throws at you playfully. You laugh as it hits you square in the chest.

“Alright, fine,” he says, walking back upstairs, “but you’d better make this date worth it, then!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you call back up the stairs at him as you bend down to retrieve the guitar pick, and his response causes you to nearly choke on your surprised and amused laughter.

“Well – haven’t you shagged him yet?”

\--

It doesn’t take long for Friday night to come around, despite spending a drearily boring day at college, which seemed to drag on forever in your impatience to see Brian, but to your joy, you’re now standing in front of your mirror, putting on the final touches to your make-up – Brian should be here soon to take you to Holland Park. It’s a very short walk from your house, which was one of Brian’s reasons for suggesting it, but it’s also quite popular, and a nice scenic area in your side of Kensington. It also has the Belvedere restaurant in it, where you and Brian will be having dinner, and the thought of going out for a meal with Brian has your stomach fizzling with anticipation; having only had one outing together that could be considered a date – your excursion to the record shop – and before you got together, no less, makes this one feel extra special, and laughing at the memory of being so unsure if last time was meant to be a date or not, you’re glad to know that this one definitely is. Regarding your appearance in the mirror with a satisfied expression, you find yourself jumping as a knock comes on the door – he’s here already! Beaming as you gather your things, you make your way down the stairs and to the front door. Just like last time, you can see Brian’s mane of hair through the small glass panel in the door, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“You’re early,” you tease with a smile as you open the door, taking in Brian’s smart appearance; he seems to have dressed up a little for the occasion, wearing a nice buttoned shirt, and though he wears his coat over the top, as it’s still pretty cold outside, the top two buttons of his shirt have been left undone, allowing a small but attractive section of his chest to peek through. It’s a look you definitely approve of.

“Maybe I couldn’t wait to see you,” he replies shyly, averting his eyes for a moment, but smiling widely as he looks at you again. The whole interaction makes your stomach flutter.

“Well, shall we go?” you ask, and he nods, stepping back as you exit the house and lock the door. Watching your breath turn to mist as it escapes into the air, you’re grateful for the warmth of Brian’s closeness as he leans in to kiss you, making you feel as though you just want to melt into him. He takes your hand, and the pair of you set off down the street, not having far to go before you reach the park.

“By the way,” you say, “I had to pull some strings in order to be here tonight.” Brian’s expression grows inquisitive at this.

“How so?”

“Harry wanted to have band practise tonight,” you tell him, “and got all upset when I told him I’d already agreed to come out with you. It took me ages to convince him to change it to tomorrow instead.” You smile in amusement as you recall the conversation, and Brian seems to become a little worried.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, “I wouldn’t have minded if we had to do it another night.” You look up at him as you walk, feeling a rush of affection and squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“No,” you refute softly, “I’d never break a promise with you.” It was a bit of a cheesy thing to say, but you feel it to be true, knowing that the way you feel about Brian right now is enough to make you want to do anything to be with him. In response to your words, Brian exhales a silent laugh, his breath clouding at his throat, and he looks bashful as he replies.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” he says quietly, seeming touched, and the pair of you share a smile. Before long, you arrive at the restaurant, grateful for its warmth and shedding your coats gladly.

“You look lovely,” Brian says, regarding you fondly as you sit down. You hadn’t tried to dress too over-the-top, going with something you’d hoped was pretty without trying too hard. Thankfully, judging by Brian’s gaze, you’ve managed it quite well.

“Thanks,” you reply a little shyly, “you look good yourself.” Eyeing Brian’s slightly open shirt again, now that his coat isn’t hiding it, you find yourself enjoying the little bit of skin you can see, used to him wearing t-shirts or his usual stage costumes. Brian doesn’t respond to your comment, looking embarrassed again, and you have to smile at his awkwardness – he should be more confident in himself. He’s a good looking guy.

The pair of you order your meals, and as you tuck in, conversation begins to flow easily, almost as though you’re back in Brian and Roger’s flat, listening to records and cuddling on the sofa. Brian had been a little wooden to begin with, probably because of the public environment, coupled with the sense of occasion, but thankfully, he’s relaxed now, smiling and chatting away.

“I know I said it already,” you say, “but thanks for asking me out. I’ve been really looking forward to it.” Brian’s smile grows to match yours.

“We haven’t had a night out like this yet, have we? I thought it was about time.” The way his hazel eyes regard you softly makes you feel so at ease.

“Yeah,” you reply, “everyone’s been quite busy recently. I love coming over to the flat, but it’s nice to do something like this every now and then.” Brian nods, but then his expression seems to show a little concern.

“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” he says, a hint of worry in his voice. “I’m not very good at this kind of thing.” Sensing his embarrassment and lack of confidence in himself when it comes to dates and being romantic, you put down your knife momentarily to reach across the table, taking hold of his hand. He looks at you in surprise, letting his fork slip out of his grasp to hold you back properly, and you smile as you tell him honestly how you feel about him.

“Brian, you are good at this,” you reassure him. “You don’t need to do anything special to make me happy – just being with you at all is enough. I don’t want you to act like some macho Casanova. I just want you to be yourself… because that’s who I really like.” It’s a bit embarrassing to say, but it’s how you feel, and it seems to strike a chord with Brian, who breaks into an elated smile, squeezing your hand.

“You’re wonderful, you know that?” The pair of you giggle quietly, feeling a little conscious of being so lovey-dovey in public, and retract your hands, returning to your meals.

“And anyway,” you add, wanting to remind him that you’re not exactly perfect either, “don’t you think I worry about things, too? I don’t exactly feel like the prettiest girl around sometimes.” The comment causes Brian to look at you intensely, clearly disagreeing with the notion.

“No,” he says, shaking his head and stumbling over his words. “Don’t say that, you’re – well, I-“ His cheeks begin to turn pink as he tries to make his point through his embarrassment, but his voice is as genuine as the affection in his eyes when he continues. “You know how I feel about you.” Feeling the honesty in his words, you can’t help but beam with happiness at how highly he seems to regard you. The pair of you simply hold a fond gaze for a moment, before laughing again, turning back to your meals for a second time.

“I suppose I’ve not had the most practise with dates anyway,” Brian says. “I went to an all-boys school, so…”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” He grins sheepishly. “So girls were a bit of a mystery for a while.” The comment causes you to laugh at his endearing awkwardness.

“Well, you solved this mystery,” you reply with a grin, and he laughs and nods.

“I suppose I did!”

The two of you continue to enjoy your meal, which is very nice, and a welcome change in routine, and after another glass of wine and more chatting, you begrudgingly accept that you need to vacate the table, not wanting the date to end. Thankfully, Brian suggests that you take a walk through the park together.

“It’s still quite cold, though,” he adds. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” you insist. “I don’t want to go home just yet.” He smiles at this, exposing his pointed teeth in a cute way, and the pair of you make your way outside after donning your coats again.

It’s gotten quite dark outside, and the park’s pathways are now dimly lit with scattered lanterns, adding to the comfortable and romantic atmosphere that you and Brian seem to have created together. As the pair of you stroll hand in hand, he takes you through the park’s orangery, winding your way through the trees, their bare limbs stretching into the night sky. Though the conversation seems to have died down a bit, the two of you seem content to simply enjoy the peace together. After a while, you head back towards the main pathway, and Brian nods ahead of you towards a bench further along the way.

“Shall we sit down for a minute?”

“Okay,” you reply with a smile, and you head over, taking a seat and gazing across the expanse of garden ahead of you. You take a moment to peer into the near-darkness, trying to remember exactly what this section of the park holds, and hoping to come here with Brian again sometime, during the day. As you’re thinking this, you glance across at him, and instead of contemplating the gardens as you had been, his eyes are instead turned upwards, regarding the sky with a soft expression. You watch him quietly, enjoying the comfort on his face, and then he turns to you, looking contented.

“It’s a bit cloudy tonight,” he says, “and of course, there’s light pollution in a place like London, but I still really enjoy looking at the night sky.” He turns his face up towards it again, and everything about him becomes even more endearing to you.

“You really love astronomy, don’t you?” He exhales a laugh, nodding.

“Yes, I’ve always been interested in it since being very young. I remember when that programme, ‘The Sky At Night’, started on BBC One, when I was about ten. I used to love watching that. I found it all fascinating.” His passion for the subject really shines through in his voice as he speaks, and it’s nice to see him like this – you feel as though you’re seeing the real Brian, getting to know him more and more, little by little.

“That’s really cool,” you reply with a smile. “Does anyone in your family like it too?” Brian’s smile widens a little as you ask this.

“My dad and I became amateur astronomers of a sort,” he replies. “He built a little telescope, and we used to follow the advice they gave on the programme, and try to see things. It didn’t always work.” He laughs, the points of his teeth peeking out again “But sometimes it did.”

“Is there anything your dad can’t build?” you ask with a giggle. “First a telescope, then a guitar! He must be talented.” Brian nods fondly.

“Well, he’s an electronics engineer. He was in the RAF during the war, and then he started developing landing systems for Concorde.” You find your eyes widening slightly at the new information.

“Really? That’s a big thing to achieve. He must be really good at his job.” Brian nods again, and you feel a pang of affection at the love in his eyes – he must be very close with his father.

“Oh yes,” he exudes, “he can build anything. He turned the spare room at our house into a workshop. He built every electrical thing my parents have, TV and everything. He always helped me whenever I had a new interest, making the telescope, and the guitar with me. I’m very lucky.” The way he enthuses over both astronomy and his relationship with his dad is something that makes you feel more strongly for Brian, seeing the amount of love he has for people, and feeling lucky yourself, that some of that love belongs to you. Regarding him fondly, you continue to indulge his interests.

“What’s the best thing you’ve ever seen through that telescope, then?” He contemplates the question for a moment, but the glint in his eye makes it seem as though he reaches an answer straight away.

“Ah, I remember seeing Saturn through it once,” he says, casting his gaze back up to the clouded sky, as though he’s picturing the planet through the haze. “It was so exciting, and I remember thinking it looked so strange, because I didn’t understand what the bulge around the middle of it was, and then of course, I found out that it was the rings!” He chuckles to himself. “I have really fond memories of that time.” The whole time Brian has been telling you all of this, regaling you with cherished past events and things that he feels strongly about, you’ve found yourself admiring him more and more, loving both his passion for beloved subjects and his affection towards people close to him. It makes him seem so wonderful, and you squeeze his hand as he holds it, regarding him tenderly.

“We should look at the stars together sometime,” you suggest, and he pries his gaze from the skies to meet yours again, his eyes sweeping over you warmly.

“I’d like that,” he replies, “although, if you’re with me, I might just-“ He cuts himself off, looking shy for a moment and moving his gaze down to your intertwined hands, before meeting your eyes again, seeming sheepish but honest. “I might just end up looking at you.”

When the words leave his lips, the impact of them causes your chest to begin tingling tangibly, feeling as though no one has ever regarded you in this way before, never been as serious about you as Brian is. It’s almost overwhelming, in a way, and you find yourself unable to come up with a reply, giving in to the only response you’re currently capable of. You shuffle quickly along the bench to be as close to Brian as possible, removing your hand from his grasp and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He seems surprised, but eagerly leans into you, his arms coming around your waist to hold you gently. The air in the park is still and cold, and the quiet of the evening makes it feel as though the two of you are the only people out here, revelling in your feelings for each other with no one to disturb you. Firm at first, the kissing begins to soften, and then the pair of you withdraw to look at each other with affectionate smiles.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before,” you say honestly in a hushed tone, and Brian smiles as he looks down at you, his hands moving to cup your face.

“Well, there’s something else I should say,” he replies, “that I should have said in the restaurant earlier, but I was too embarrassed.”

“What’s that?” you ask with a quiet laugh, and in response, Brian closes his eyes, tilting his head as if to kiss you again, but stopping just short, whispering it against your mouth.

“You’re beautiful.”

Before you can begin to express the huge rush of adoration coursing through you, Brian starts to kiss you again, and you let yourself fall into it, pulling him closer to you and kissing back strongly, hoping to convey even just a little of how much his words mean to you. The embrace feels wonderful, even more so when Brian puts his arms around your waist again, drawing you in even more tightly. As the kisses deepen, the coarse sound of the both of you inhaling strongly begins to fill your ears, breathing more heavily with the intensity of it. This is the most passionately Brian has ever kissed you, and before you’re quite sure of what you’re thinking exactly, you find yourself pressing your body against him, wanting to feel his hands on your skin, his tongue against yours. One of your hands finds its way towards his open shirt, the little glimpse of skin you’ve been looking at all night. Your fingers slide into the opening slowly, running over his smooth chest, and Brian seems to react, as you hear his breath catch ever so slightly in his throat. He pulls away from you, looking at you with an intense expression, and you find yourself blushing as the pair of you snap back to reality for a moment, no longer lost in the embrace.

As you stare wordlessly at each other, thoughts begin to whizz through your mind; you and Brian haven’t ever gone further than kissing yet, and you have to admit that you’ve occasionally wondered when it might happen, though happy to wait until the moment is right, and the both of you seem ready for it. However, having Brian kiss you like that, and seeing the both of you hot-faced and slightly out of breath, given everything he just said about you, makes you wonder – is this the moment? Does Brian want to take it to the next level, and are you really sure that it’s right? The questions buzz around your brain as you contemplate Brian, who steadies his breathing, looking a little shocked, and glances quickly at the empty park around you, which seems to be getting darker by the moment.

“I, uh-“ His breath warms your face in your proximity. “Did you want me to walk you home?” Regarding his unsure expression, you realise that Brian’s trying to be a gentleman and not push things too far, letting you know that it’s okay if you just want to go home. You appreciate his thoughtfulness, but the thought of going home after having such a nice evening and this special moment with him isn’t something you welcome. Fleetingly, you picture entering your house to a barrage of teasing from Harry, probably laced with sulky jabs at the fact that you went out with Brian instead of committing to band practise tonight – he’s always childish like that. It’s not a scenario you want to be a part of yet, although it is getting late, so you should really be heading home soon. That kiss, though… the way Brian kissed you just now makes you want to spend as much time with him as possible, to stretch out the date as late as you can to make the most of it. If he walks you home, it has to end, but if, perhaps, you went with him to his flat… things could continue. You’re not sure if it’s right to suggest it, but then words of Harry’s that you do appreciate pop into your head, the last thing he said to you before he hid in his room for the night:

'Haven’t you shagged him yet?'

Though an off-the-cuff and partially sarcastic question on Harry’s part, after everything that’s happened tonight, it rings more and more loudly in your head, making you feel sure that it’s tonight that you want something to happen between you and Brian. The way he made you feel was strong enough that leaving it there just doesn’t seem like enough anymore. Wondering if Brian’s thoughts are at all similar to yours, you test him, posing the question.

“Actually, I really don’t want to stop seeing you yet,” you say honestly, softening your voice so as not to come on too strongly, but meeting his eyes steadily. “I’ve had a really good time. Do you think I could come back to yours for a bit?” The way you’d worded your question had made it seem as though you were intending to go home afterwards, but knowing how late it currently is, you can tell that Brian knows that it would probably entail you staying the night. Leaving the ball in his court, you wait as he seems to wrestle with something internally, searching his face for an answer. After a moment, his eyes meet yours again, filled with his usual warm fondness, but with an underlying hint of something else.

“Yes, alright,” he replies, looking at you with what seems to be a mixture of excitement and nerves. “If you’d like to.”

“Yeah, I would.” The pair of you simply gaze at each other for a long moment, neither of you moving to take the first step, the anticipation of what might come later hanging densely in the air. However, after recovering his courage, Brian removes his arms from around you, taking your hand and standing up, and you follow suit, walking down the pathway together in the opposite direction from which you came, not heading back to Bedford Gardens, but instead, onward towards Sinclair Road.


	12. You Feel Fantastic...  My Body Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your enjoyable date with Brian, during which things got more heated than you'd expected, you find yourself going back to the flat he shares with Roger, but what is really about to happen? You're unsure, but one thing you do know is that your desire to share something physical with Brian has been ignited.

The walk to Brian and Roger’s flat from Holland Park is longer than the walk to your house, but it had passed quickly as the two of you had made your way through the dark streets at speed, partially wanting to get out of the cold, and also longing to get to the flat to determine exactly what was about to happen between you tonight. You hadn’t really spoken much, simply striding along hand in hand, until finally, you’d made it to the familiar building, Brian leading the way in. As you enter through the front door, the sound of music floats over to you, and taking in the room, you see that Roger and a couple of friends are sitting across various sofas, chatting and drinking while listening to records.

“Alright?” Roger greets, waving his hand nonchalantly at the pair of you. His arm is around someone you haven’t seen before, a girl with long, brown hair. The fact that this little get-together is happening makes you feel a bit less shy about spending alone time with Brian, if that’s what’s going to happen, as Roger has his own distractions. After a brief conversation with everyone, Brian takes your coat from you to hang up along with his, and the small group begin to chat amongst themselves again, giving the pair of you a moment to extricate yourself. Brian reappears at your side, looking a little tentative.

“Do you want to join them?” he asks quietly. “Or we could go upstairs, if you wanted to talk somewhere more quiet.” Glad to hear the second option, you wonder if his suggesting it is for the same reason you’re thinking about it.

“Yeah, it’s a bit loud in here,” you reply, glancing towards the record player. “I’d kind of like to be somewhere quieter.” Brian seems relieved when you say this, smiling with a nod and taking your hand to lead you up the stairs. None of the group seem to pay you much attention as the pair of you escape the social atmosphere and enter the solace of Brian’s bedroom, a place you haven’t actually been before, now that you think about it. Brian lets go of your hand as you walk into the room, turning to close the door behind him, and you take a moment to look around, gazing at the plain, nondescript walls. The place does have little touches of Brian’s personality in it though, as your eyes travel across a pile of records that are evidently Brian’s personal collection, as well as a small set of postcards of some sort that look as though they have astronomical pictures on them, glimpsing the Moon upon the card on top. Hearing the door close behind you, you turn to face Brian, who’s lingering at the doorway as though nervous about entering his own room, though considering what might be going through his mind, you can understand it; is he really wanting the same thing as you? It’s hard to tell, although the way he’d kissed you so passionately in the park seemed to suggest something along those lines. After a moment’s hesitating, he crosses the room to sit on his bed, and you follow suit, Brian taking your hands in his.

“Thanks again for everything tonight,” you say honestly. “I’ve really enjoyed it.” Brian smiles, seeming to relax a little.

“I’m glad, I did too.” The room plunges into silence as neither of you are sure of what to say, the noise of the record player wafting up to you vaguely from downstairs, along with the occasional loud voice, raised in exclamation or laughter. Brian then speaks again. “It’s getting pretty late,” he notes, “so, um, you’re welcome to stay, if you like.” The thought of waking up next to Brian in the morning is something that fills you with glee, having never spent the night before.

“If you don’t mind,” you say, and he shakes his head with a smile. The knowledge that you’re definitely going to sleep here tonight now makes your chest flutter again.

“By the way,” he continues, “I meant everything I said before.” Referring to his appreciation of your looks over dinner, and his outright declaration that he finds you beautiful in the park, you begin to get that feeling again – the rush of adoration towards him for seeing you in this way, and going to the effort to make sure you know how he feels about you. You feel your mouth tingle, wanting him to kiss you again.

“I know,” you reply quietly, “and I meant everything I said, too – I really do like you just the way you are. I’d never want you to act like someone else. You’re really special to me, and-“ You find yourself inching closer to him again, your natural instincts causing your arms to work their way around his neck once more, pulling him gently towards you. “-I just want to be close to you.” Something seems to flash in Brian’s eyes as he regards you with a look you can’t quite read, but it must be something positive, as instead of replying, he’s the one to kiss you this time, bringing his mouth down to meet yours quickly. Within seconds, the kissing is just like it was in the park, deep and passionate, Brian’s hands working their way gently around your back. As you sink into his kisses, holding him tightly to you, one of his hands begins to gingerly lower itself until it’s resting firmly against the base of your spine, and to your surprise, its fingers tentatively reach lower to touch your behind ever so slightly. The gesture makes it clear to you that sex must be on Brian’s mind, as he’s never been so forward before, and as you endure the swell of hormones that you feel in response, you find yourself not caring that both your mother and Harry will wonder why you didn’t come home tonight, despite the fact that you’ll definitely get a scolding tomorrow. The kisses are now coming with dizzying intensity, and then Brian breaks away suddenly, regarding you with a look that you can’t mistake for anything other than lust, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with his slightly agitated breath.

“Is this close enough?” The voice that asks the question isn’t quite its usual soft hum, but flecked with hints of an ulterior motive that you’ve never been happier to hear. The answer you give back to him is only a simple word, but one that seems to have so much power in this moment, causing the final barriers between the two of you physically to come crashing down.

“No.”

You watch as Brian’s soft, hazel eyes begin to change, clouding over with a dark look of wanting, and the sight causes a familiar tingling sensation to begin to pool low in your stomach. Giving in to your body’s desires, you lean in to kiss him again as your hands move to that gap in his shirt, your fingers tracing his skin once more, before taking a hold of the first button that is still done up, popping it slowly open. Brian seems to enjoy this, deepening the kiss and tightening his grip around you, the hand that had played tentatively at your behind becoming bold now, sliding down and squeezing gently. You continue to undo the buttons of his shirt until there are none left to open, and he withdraws his hands from you momentarily to allow the shirt to fall from his form, pulling his arms from the sleeves. As he does so, you take a moment to properly look at his body, having never seen him in this state of undress before; there’s not a spare ounce of weight on him, articulate shoulders framing his hairless chest, a deep groove running between the muscles, and your eyes follow it down to behold the way his ribs show slightly through his pale skin, leading down to an incredibly slim waist. He’s beautiful, in an almost unreal way, and it makes you feel slightly overweight in comparison.

However, Brian seems to want to see more of you too, moving in to kiss you again, and while one arm goes around your waist, his other hand rests on your knee gently. Just as you think that he’s going to stay put like this, he starts to slide his hand slowly up your thigh, inching slowly towards the hem of your dress as you kiss. Surprised at his confidence, you’re not sure if he’s being so bold on purpose, or just instinctively, driven by his hormones, but whichever it is, you love it; as his fingers slip underneath the fabric of the dress, you find yourself almost trembling, anticipating his touch against your underwear heatedly. The two of you are kissing with open mouths now, his tongue coming tentatively against yours, clearly not wanting to be too aggressive, as it’s the first time doing any of this with you. You aren’t sure exactly how much experience he’s had with other girls when it comes to this, and his awkward nature is always close to the surface, but as you know that it’s not his first time, you get the feeling that there’s a lustful part of him that will shine through and push him to take the lead, once it’s provoked enough.

Just as you’re thinking about this, Brian’s fingers reach your underwear at last, not touching you where you’d expected, but travelling upwards, brushing against the side of your pubic bone before taking a hold of the waistband of the tights you’re wearing, beginning to pull them down. Wanting strongly to remove any barrier between you and Brian, you move backwards on the bed and lean back, raising your hips so that he can take them off you. He does so slowly, his eyes fixed upon the spot where your dress meets the gap between your parted legs as he discards the tights onto the floor. You return the favour for him, sitting up to take the button of his trousers between your fingers, undoing it. He moves away from the bed slightly, standing up properly, and you feel a surge of something powerful as you watch him look down at you intensely, your seated position putting your face level with his navel as you pull his zip down. As you pry his trousers away from his body, his hands move to help you get rid of them, and tantalisingly, you’re met with the sight of his burgeoning erection pressed firmly against the material of his underwear, which makes you want this a million times more than you already did.

As he throws his trousers into the corner of the room, you simply gaze up at him, wanting him to make the next move, and thankfully, he does; reaching out to you, he takes your hands and pulls you to your feet, leaning down for more kisses. After a moment, his hands come down to grasp at your dress, pulling it up slowly, as if to make sure that it’s okay with you. You encourage him, grabbing at its hem alongside him, and the two of you remove it together. Once you’re standing there in nothing but your bra and underwear, Brian’s gaze softens for a moment as he regards you with fondness, his hands coming up to touch your face gently.

“You really are beautiful,” he says in his usual warm and somewhat vulnerable tone, and his care for you causes you to smile happily, even in the heat of the moment, touched by his affection. In reply, you lean upwards to kiss him again, and he returns it gladly, guiding you backwards onto the bed and joining you there. Propped comfortably against his pillows, you gaze up at him as he shyly positions himself over you, his body hovering over yours as he continues to kiss you. You feel his nerves come to the forefront a little once more, as he puts space between you at first, so you wrap your arms around his neck tightly as you kiss, putting all of your passion into it in the hope that it will spark his confidence again. Thankfully, it seems to work, as before long, Brian lowers his body down to rest against yours, his hips between your legs, and it’s all you need to start feeling that deep sense of wanting again. Brian’s lips caress yours, softly but firmly, and as you begin to get more and more excited by each other, it isn’t long before the both of you are grinding your lower bodies against each other, the hardness of his arousal rubbing teasingly against you. You feel yourself getting wet from the stimulation, and as he grinds into you again, a soft moan escapes you, muffled against his mouth. This seems to turn him on more, as he lets out a low, quiet moan of his own, breaking away from the kissing to look at you with an expression that suggests that he doesn’t have much patience left. Luckily for him, neither do you.

“Brian,” you find yourself breathing airily, needing to feel him against your skin, inside you, anywhere that will give you the pleasure you crave. Brian hesitates for a moment, his face a picture of frustration, yet clinging onto his unfailing respect for your choices, maintaining the intense eye contact you’re sharing and awaiting instruction. In your hormone-addled state, you can only manage to utter a single word, but judging by the look he gives you, it was the right one.

“…please.”

Brian springs into action immediately, spurred on by your desperate request, leaning down to bury his face in your neck and planting kiss after kiss. As his mouth caresses you in this way, sending a blissful shiver down your spine, one of his hands reaches down to touch the thin fabric of your underwear, and this time, he doesn’t shy away. You feel a burning anticipation fizzing in your stomach as his fingers pry the material away from you slowly, the suspense almost killing you, but after what seems like an age, he finally makes proper contact; as his fingertips touch your slick opening, the wetness there causes them to slide easily between your folds, teasing at your entrance. You exhale strongly at the feeling, instinctively pushing your hips upwards slightly to draw him in, and Brian’s kisses stop for a moment as he reacts to it, his breath faltering with arousal. Following your lead, he keeps going, pressing firmly against you and pushing deeply until you’re gasping at the feeling of him inside you – god, his fingers are so long. As he begins to move, you feel yourself getting more turned on by the second as he manipulates you, thrusting his fingers and curling them deeply at your sweet spot, and before you know it, you’re rolling your hips along with his movements and whimpering softly in pleasure. Brian pulls himself upwards, propping his body up on an elbow so that he can see you as you revel in his touch. His eyes sweep over your form, drinking in the look on your face, your swelling chest as you breathe, and the taunting sight of his soaked fingers, sunken into your pulsing depths. His expression is hungry and almost disbelieving at what he’s doing to you, his mouth open as he beholds you, and he too begins to stumble over his words.

“You’re… can I..?” You know exactly what he’s asking, and nod vigorously in return, the need for words long gone. Brian’s eyes widen at your approval, and he removes his fingers from you hastily, clearly wanting badly to complete the connection between you. However, he stops himself for a moment, looking as though he’s just thought of something. “Do we need to..?” After a second, you realise that he’s referring to protection, and you find yourself smiling slightly at his consideration – a lot of guys don’t like to use things like that, and sometimes won’t even talk about it.

“I’m on the pill,” you inform him, and he nods, smiling through his frustration, clearly put at ease. The pair of you shift slightly as Brian reaches around to remove your bra, and eager to get to the part you’re craving the most, you slip your damp underwear off for him. Reaching for his briefs, you start to remove them slowly, and as you do so, you can feel Brian’s eyes on your now completely naked body. With an expression full of wonder, he runs his hands over you, his large palms encircling your breasts as he caresses them. This only makes you even more impatient, but thankfully, you don’t have to wait much longer; laying back on the bed with Brian hovering over you, both of you naked, vulnerable and hungry for each other, you realise that you’d completely forgotten about everyone downstairs, and Harry and your mother waiting for you at home, almost losing sight of where you are. The anticipation of what is about to happen causes your whole body to throb, and as the distant melodies of the music and rabble of voices continue to sound on the floor below, you feel an immense satisfaction in knowing that you and Brian are completely alone and uninterrupted. Moving your gaze to his erection, now free from the cage of his underwear, you feel a fresh surge of arousal wetting you as he takes it in his hand, moving his body to be closer to you. His eyes showing a mixture of yearning and nerves, he leans down, his face nestling into the crook of your neck again. You widen your already parted legs, wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him in, and after a moment, you feel the warm tip of his large member rubbing against your entrance, slipping slightly against your wetness as he guides himself. Reeling, you arch your back, your hips bucking upwards towards him, and a quiet gasp escapes both of you simultaneously as the two of you cease to be separate entities, joining as one.

His hardness breaks into you with satisfying force, your insides surrendering their defences to let him penetrate you with his full length. As he thrusts completely into you, reaching his limit, another quiet moan erupts from you as you feel your muscles clench around him, squeezing his erection tightly, and Brian inhales sharply at its feeling, still hiding his face in your neck. However, he then uses his hands to prop himself up again, taking a moment to look down and marvel at the arousing sight of the wet, throbbing spot where the pair of you are now joined. His lips quiver, as if he wants to say something, but overcome by the intensity of the moment as the pair of you regard each other with a hard stare, he stays silent, and instead, begins to move. Rocking his hips, he closes his eyes as he thrusts repeatedly into you. Though his movement is a little wooden at first, probably due to his nerves over doing this with you for the first time, he soon relaxes into a looser, more steady rhythm, and you feel a surge of affection, mixed with lust, as you relish the look of enjoyment on his face. His eyes peek open, his gaze falling down to meet yours again, and you take his wrists in your grip and look back at him, incredibly happy that this is happening.

As his movements grow more passionate as the moments pass, you find yourself moving along with him, arching and gyrating to feel him more deeply. This only serves to turn Brian on even more, as he visibly relishes in the sight of your writhing body underneath him, his brow furrowing and his hips rocking more strongly. With this increased intensity, you feel his member start to prod at the most sensitive spot inside you, and the pleasure from it causes you to close your eyes, moaning again. Though your vision is cut off, you hear Brian’s response, his breath rushing out of him in an aroused huff, and you find yourself loving the way his body fits inside yours, the pair of you seeming to merge perfectly, like a complete puzzle. The longer the two of you intertwine like this, the more special it feels; while most of the previous boys you’ve done this with had treated you nicely, there’s something markedly different about this experience. Brian really seems to be putting his whole being into his every touch and movement, and the look in his eyes as he beholds you, despite being expectedly lustful, also holds a sense of something close to worship, as though you’re the most beautiful person alive. It’s surprisingly powerful, and as the two of you continue to enjoy each other, it seems to only heighten what you’re feeling.

As he surges forwards again, your depths tingle and clench as he gets you just in the right place, and you find yourself whimpering aloud once more with the pleasure. This time, your eyes open, you watch Brian visibly shudder slightly in enjoyment at the sound you make, maintaining an intense eye contact as he sighs under his breath. It occurs to you that neither of you have spoken a word since sex had begun in earnest, and wanting him to know that he’s doing better than he probably suspects, you let him know what you’re feeling.

“You feel so good inside me, Brian,” you say with an open-mouthed smile, a blush rising in your cheeks as his eyebrows arch and he breathes a small, pleased laugh in response.

“You’re-“ His thrusting slows a little as he collects himself, looking as though he’s not very used to saying lewd things to his sexual partners, but wanting to take the opportunity you’ve provided. “-you’re so wet.” It’s your turn to laugh this time, feeling ever more turned on and closely connected to him, glad he’s getting as much enjoyment out of the experience as you are.

“That’s because of you,” you whisper, hoping to tease him, and it seems to work, as he exhales hard, his forehead creasing as he bites his lip in relish. He looks so amazing, his wonderfully slim waist and stomach rippling as he moves within you, it’s enough to send you wild with desire. Seeming to find a new confidence, he speaks again, rousing your attention back to his face.

“Are those noises because of me, too?” The question really catches you off guard, given his shyness only moments ago, and you seem to find him sexier with every second that passes, loving how daring he’s becoming.

“What do you think?” you ask, cocking your eyebrows at him, and he grins, regaining the steady rhythm he’d had before. To your surprise, he suddenly throws in a stronger thrust without warning, and you exhale a moan unintentionally with the pleasure, as though it was knocked out of you.

“I want to hear more.” The sentence is so unexpected that all you can do for a moment is gaze up at Brian as he thrusts, arousal coursing through you even more strongly, marvelling at his newfound courage. The tone of his voice had been partly lascivious and partly vulnerable, displaying his obvious care and respect for you at the same time as his desire, and the intensity of both sides combined, paired with the look in his eyes, heightens your passion tenfold. Opening your mouth once more, you tell him what you know he wants to hear, and what you really want from him, too.

“Then make me.” You watch as Brian’s eyes seem to turn dark with an almost animalistic thirst, looking incredibly turned on, and without another word, he shifts his position slightly, kneeling to be more upright and thrusting his arms underneath your hips quickly. Raising your lower body towards him, he pushes himself into you again as his hands support your weight. The slight change in position causes his hardness to penetrate you at a different angle, and the pleasure that you get from it is much more intense than before. Brian, starting to look like a wild animal in his hunger, takes a deep breath before bursting into action, thrusting at a much faster speed than before, clearly wanting to deliver on your request. Straight away, big waves of pleasure start to run through you as he pumps himself into you with fervour, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. In response, you find yourself unable to stifle your moans, much higher and louder than before, and reminded momentarily that there are others in the flat downstairs, you almost go to cover your mouth. Brian visibly loves it, his mouth hanging open as he watches you squirm in pleasure.

“Oh, Brian,” you wail quietly as the burning pressure begins to well up inside you, and he lets out a ragged breath, moaning back at you.

“You feel fantastic,” he groans hoarsely, focusing his whole body on thrusting into you as quickly as he can, and the pleasure builds until you feel as though your tightened grip on his wrists is going to leave marks, intensifying as you look down at his body, seeing how the dark shock of his pubic hair is glistening with the moisture from your enjoyment. As the noise level in the room rises, the two of you moaning and breathing hard, so does your pleasure, your entanglement hot with wetness and delicious friction. Looking into his sinful eyes as the pressure within you builds, you feel your whole body tingle as you realise that you’re approaching an orgasm.

“Don’t stop, Brian,” you plead desperately, writhing and bucking your hips with the throes of pleasure, and he bites his lip again, his brow furrowing deeply as he obeys, visibly struggling with himself, trying to hold his own pleasure back to prolong yours.

“Oh god…” His voice comes high and breathy as he gives you his all, thrusting as hard as he can, and the resulting wave of enjoyment that comes crashing over you is enough to send you over the edge.

“Brian!” you exclaim, no longer caring who might hear you, and as your orgasm hits you strongly, like a physical brick wall, you cry out, your eyes closing, thighs spasming, and your insides clenching hard. As you ride the intense wave of pleasure, you hear Brian’s voice calling aloud as he loses himself to his own orgasm, and you open your eyes to watch him as he pounds you hard, seeming to draw more pleasure out of himself with every thrust. Reeling from it all, you feel yourself coming down from your high as Brian begins to do the same, and then he slows right down, penetrating you deeply and savouring every last drop of pleasure, his member twitching as he empties himself into you. After such intensity, the air in the room begins to calm, everything winding slowly down to normal again.

Staring at each other as you shakily return to reality, Brian slowly lowers your hips back down onto the bed, making sure that you’re comfortable, and slips himself out of you, completely spent. He leans down towards you, and you feel a great sense of intimacy as he props himself up on an arm, looking at you with a peaceful and happy expression. His free hand comes up to stroke your face lovingly, the lust in his eyes now replaced with a look of complete devotion, and it causes a huge rush of affection to burst through your chest.

“Brian,” you breathe, pulling him close to you and holding him tight, your fingers curling into his sweat-dampened hair. His breath comes against your shoulder warmly as he exhales, releasing the last traces of tension from his body, and he returns your embrace.

“I sort of can’t believe we did that,” he mumbles against you, and a laugh escapes you happily as he chuckles.

“I’m so glad we did, though,” you say earnestly. “It was amazing, and really special.” Brian seems to hold you closer as you say this, his face pressing hotly against you. When he speaks, his voice betrays a certain insecurity, as though he’s really baring himself to you.

“I loved it,” he says, his breath rushing against your skin. “You’re incredible. I’ve never had an experience that good before.” The words hit you strongly, and you find yourself nodding as you reply.

“Nether have I. You’re different from other people I’ve done this with.” Brian lifts himself up again to gaze down at you, combing his fingers through your hair as he speaks.

“Did you really enjoy it that much?” You break into a smile, knowing that you can only tell him the truth.

“Of course I did – didn’t you hear me?” The both of you snort quietly in laughter, and you hope that your ecstatic moans hadn’t been too loud – the last thing you need tomorrow, on top of your mother and Harry grilling you for staying out, is Roger making endless jokes at your expense, though something tells you that it’s somewhat inevitable. Brian’s face grows more serious again, regarding you with a soft expression.

“I’m just – I’m really glad I can make you feel like that.” In truth, you hadn’t expected the first time doing this with Brian to be so good – it’s always a little awkward when you’re getting to know a new sexual partner in that way, and while Brian had his moments of that, he really relaxed after a point, the pair of you warming to each other relatively quickly, able to give each other what you’d hoped for. On top of that, the added sense of intimacy that Brian had brought to it really made it a special experience.

“You make me feel a lot of things,” you whisper, returning the smile he gives you as his eyes twinkle with affection. He brings his mouth down onto yours, kissing tenderly for a moment before withdrawing to gaze into your eyes again.

“And am I lucky enough to get to wake up next to you tomorrow, then?” Your smile grows wide as he giggles slightly, leaning in and planting a trail of kisses across your neck and shoulder.

“Yes, you are,” you laugh, and he hums a happy sound against your skin, wrapping his arms around you more tightly. Closing your eyes and enjoying this loving embrace, you feel yourself unable to keep the delirious smile off your face, blissful in the knowledge that you and Brian have gotten this close, and will probably only become closer with time. The two of you grow more still and quiet, and snuggling into each other, neither one of you letting go, your happy thoughts begin to carry you to sleep.

__

Submerged in the near-silent atmosphere, you feel your consciousness beginning to rouse you from your peaceful sleep. Yawning dozily, you stretch your body, ridding your muscles of their lethargy, and start a little as your arm bumps into something warm and smooth. It’s at that moment that you remember what happened last night, and where you are; a jolt of happiness bursts in your chest as you open your eyes, peeking at Brian’s slumbering form next to you. He’s facing away from you, his wild hair cascading over the pillow around him, his body heat radiating towards you. You listen to his breath come quietly and steadily, and a smile growing upon your face, you already know that you’re going to have a hard time leaving such a serene place, once it’s time to go. Speaking of which, you aren’t sure what time it is, so you roll over gently, casting around the room for a clock. You find one on the far side of the chest of drawers next to the bed: 9:50. Contemplating how long it would take to get to the practise rooms from here, you realise that it’s getting a little late – you shouldn’t stay here too much longer. Disappointed, you decide to enjoy the little time you have left with Brian, turning back to him and drawing closer, rubbing your hand across his back. The pale glow of his skin looks somewhat ethereal, and you exhale a quiet breath of endearment at the delicacy of his body – he’s almost prettier than you are. It seems as though your touch has woken him, as he sighs softly, shifting groggily, before turning to face you. When he does, neither of you can help but smile as your tired eyes meet, happy to still be with each other. The honest affection in his gaze causes your chest to flutter, your cheeks flushing slightly.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, sliding an arm from beneath the covers to take your hand.

“Morning,” you reply with a small giggle, feeling somewhat giddy at this new intimacy.

“Are you okay?” You nod with a smile.

“Yes, I’m more than okay.” Brian’s finely-pointed teeth peek out as his smile widens, and watching his eyes move to contemplate your mouth, you feel an almost magnetic pull, leaning towards him. His arms come around you as you kiss, warm and comforting, making it even harder to muster the willpower to leave.

“I hate to say this,” you begin once the kissing dies down, “but it’s getting sort of late. I need to get to the practise room.” Brian’s brow creases in expected disappointment, but he nods understandingly.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly 10 o’clock.” He hums in begrudging agreement.

“Yeah, you’d better get going soon.” He simply regards you warmly for a moment, and you feel quite empowered by the way he looks at you. “We’ll just have to do this again soon, won’t we?” He grins, and you follow suit, laughing and holding him close.

“Definitely!” The two of you lay there for a few more minutes, enjoying the closeness of your bodies and the stillness of the morning, leaving it as late as you possibly can before pulling yourself from the paradise of Brian’s bed with loathing to head off for band practise.

__

Stepping off the bus and making your way quickly down the street towards the familiar old building, you hope you’re not late. After you’d managed to pry yourself away from Brian and his blissful kisses to get ready to leave, you’d realised just how much of a mess you probably look; having not planned to stay at Brian’s, you hadn’t taken anything with you, resulting in you having to come out in yesterday’s clothes, as well as yesterday’s faded make-up – you must look a state. However, you find yourself not caring too much, as memories of the unexpected and wonderful sex that you and Brian had last night play through your mind, causing your hand to cover your giddy laughter as you make your way into the building. Picking up the pace slightly, you try to put on an air of normality as you push the squeaking door open to meet your bandmates.

“There she is!” Charlie shouts, pointing a drum stick at you from behind his kit, and Dave and Tom cheer loudly as you laugh, trotting towards the stage.

“You haven’t been here too long, have you?”

“No, it’s only a few minutes past.” You climb up onto the stage to take your place at the microphone, and despite your hopes, you feel eyes on you as the boys look you up and down.

“Where’ve you been, then?” Dave’s voice causes you to freeze for a moment, unsure of how to react. You turn to them slowly, hoping you can play it off as something casual.

“Yeah, you’ve never arrived separately from Harry before,” Tom chimes in, and you try to suppress both your embarrassment and your grin.

“I just stayed over at Roger and Brian’s,” you say honestly, feigning nonchalance. “They had some other friends round, too. It was getting late, though, so I thought I’d just come straight here in the morning.” Tom nods, looking relatively satisfied, but Charlie and Dave exchange a mischievous look before continuing their interrogation.

“So you had a party?”

“A bit of one, yeah,” you respond, hoping your explanation shuts them up, but it’s not your lucky day.

“Are you sure you didn’t spend the whole night in Brian’s bed?” Harry turns to you with his arms folded after making the comment, and the other boys start howling with laughter as you feel a pit of doom open up in your stomach.

“Who told you that, exactly?”

“Roger certainly made it seem that way,” he responds, and you recall a brief conversation from earlier in the morning; when you and Brian had made your way downstairs, meeting Roger, who’d been groggily making himself some toast, he’d mentioned that at some point last night, Harry had called the flat to ask if anyone knew where you were. Roger had told him that you were there, and not to worry about you. Thanks to the sexual ruckus you and Brian had been enjoying, you hadn’t even remembered hearing the phone ring. Thanking Roger for keeping your brother in the loop, you’d left, not realising that he seemed to have also alluded that you and Brian had been enjoying some private alone time. It wouldn’t have been difficult for Harry to put two and two together. Snapping back to the present moment, you look at Harry as he regards you with a disdainful stare, his arms still folded stubbornly across his chest.

“Have some fun, did you?” Charlie shoots with a laugh, and as you go to respond with something clever, Harry pipes up again, hitting you with a torrent of words that causes pure embarrassment to flow through you.

“Oh, she definitely did. That’s exactly the same outfit you left in yesterday – spontaneous visit, was it? I bet you’re not even wearing knickers right now.” You feel your face turn a horrid shade of puce as you internally admit that he’s completely right; you might have dressed in the same discarded clothes as you’d arrived in, but after last night’s – ahem – activities, your underwear had been in no condition to be worn, and you’d balled them up, burying them into the depths of your handbag. You close your eyes in shame, knowing they’re in there right now. Damn - Harry knows you so well. At this point, the other three boys are practically choking with raucous laughter, and despite the moment being completely at your own expense, you can’t help but burst out laughing with them. The room fills with the merry chorus of giggles, and amused beyond further shame, you start to shout at everyone.

“Alright, yeah, we did it – it was bloody amazing! Satisfied? Want to watch next time?” A fresh round of chortles ensues, and as you feel your cheeks throb from smiling, you look over at Harry. To your surprise, he’s not laughing at all, still regarding you with a stoic expression. You feel your amusement fall from your face as you watch his cool glare, wondering what’s bothering him, everyone else still giggling away.

“Well, you got me,” you say to him with a grin, trying to draw out a response from him. He shifts his weight about, looking a little antsy, before averting his gaze.

“Maybe try telling me where you’re going next time,” he shoots back in a peeved tone, and you can’t understand why he’s acting so strangely about it; usually, you and Harry are partners in crime when it comes to everything, and in the past, he’s always been your confidant, covering for you when you’ve been up to no good and laughing with a tenacious twinkle in his eye at every story you’ve told him, just as you’ve always done for him, too. On top of that, his words from the other day resound in your mind for a third time – ‘haven’t you shagged him yet?’ He’d even encouraged you to make the date ‘worth it’, as he’d said, in exchange for moving practise to today… so what is he upset for? This sudden change of character is throwing you off, unsure what to make of it.

“Oh, come on,” you cajole, trying to lighten the mood as Dave, Tom and Charlie continue to laugh and talk amongst themselves, probably at your expense. “You did tell me to make it worth it, didn’t you? I’ll tell you all the gossip later! It was even-“ You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before Harry cuts you off.

“I don’t really care, sis.” The disdain in his eyes really gets to you, making you feel sort of attacked, and you find yourself growing silent again. “We already put off practise so you could have your stupid date, and then you show up late anyway. Can we just get on with it now?” Taken aback, you feel a little annoyance rising within you at his harsh manner – why is he so offended by this?

“It was only a couple of minutes late-“

“Alright everyone, enough messing about,” Harry bellows, talking over you again and rousing the attention of your bandmates. “Let’s not waste any more time. First song – go.” He looks at Charlie as he announces his final instruction, and pulling himself together from his laughing fit, Charlie obeys, counting the band in. Everyone just about manages to shake off their amusement in time, conscious of the late start to the practise and settling down to play. Still a little dumbfounded, you gaze across at Harry as the boys perform the introduction to the song, trying to figure out what on Earth is going through his mind, but in this environment, you’re never going to find out. Doing your best to push it from your mind, to limited success, you take your place at the microphone to concede to Harry’s demand, hoping that whatever is going on here, the two of you can work it out quickly.


	13. With The Pain And Anger, Can't See A Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been starting to get a little strange between you and your brother; he's started playing annoying games with the members of your band, spreading false gossip and seemingly trying to turn everybody against you. You're not sure what this is about, but things are about to get ugly - fast.

The corridors fill with the rabble of chatter as you make your way towards the sandwich bar; after spending the morning hard at work on your studies, you’re now on your way to enjoy lunch with Brian. The two of you had agreed to meet up yesterday, and you’re grateful for the welcome distraction from biology for an hour. Entering the foyer of the building and taking a right, you feel your insides warm with affection as you see Brian’s unmistakable form up ahead, waiting for you in the entrance. He turns just as you’re approaching him, returning your wave with an adorable smile, the lighter wisps of his hair fluttering as he moves towards you. The two of you wrap your arms around each other as soon as you meet, sharing a kiss regardless of the amount of students milling around you, and then make your way into the bar to get your lunch. After grabbing your sandwiches of choice, you find a seat together in the crowded bar, locating two empty seats opposite each other after a moment’s casting around.

“How are you?” Brian asks with a smile. “How’s biology going?”

“It’s alright,” you say without much enthusiasm. “I’ll get through it. What about your thesis?” He purses his lips comically for a moment, looking slightly deflated.

“I’m doing the best job I can,” he says with a laugh. “It’s still interesting, but hard to keep my mind focused. It’ll be alright, though.” He tucks into his sandwich, and you take that as a sign that he’d rather talk about something else, which you can understand.

“How about Queen, then?” you ask instead. “What are you lot up to, now that you aren’t playing gigs for the time being?” He looks straight up at you, seeming much more enthusiastic about this topic.

“Well, we’re in the middle of writing more songs at the moment,” he says, a sort of faraway look forming in his eyes as he contemplates things. “It’s quite exciting, but it’s also a bit disappointing, because Trident still haven’t found anyone to release the first album yet, so we can’t really start recording another one.” You find yourself nodding grimly in response, knowing that it must be difficult for them to have strong creative ideas and not much freedom to do anything about it.

“Don’t give up, though,” you reply encouragingly. “I won’t accept a world with no Queen in it.” You smile impishly, and it draws a grin from him too, as the pair of you chuckle slightly.

“No, we won’t,” he says with certainty, a quiet determination emanating through his soft voice. “What about you? How’s your band doing?” As he says this, you feel a slight sinking sensation, as though something’s weighing you down – things have been a little complicated recently.

“Well,” you begin, aware that your voice has taken on a bit of a disgruntled tone, “not so great, as it happens.” Brian’s hazel eyes rest on you warmly, a little concern in their depths.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Taking a deep breath, you begin to relay the various things that have happened over the last couple of weeks; ever since the practise you’d had the day after your date with Brian, during which the boys had ribbed you mercilessly over having obviously stumbled in after staying the night with him, things had started to get strange. At first, it seemed as though all of the boys had begun to form disagreeable opinions about the band, more often than not, focusing around you. At random moments during your home practises, Harry had told you several things in confidence – unsavoury things that Charlie, Dave or Tom had said about you behind your back. None of them had particularly made sense, mostly expressing disappointment in your performance in the band, or accusing you of putting the group to the back of your mind, not as interested as you used to be, leading the few practises you’ve had to be a little awkward. Knowing that none of these things are true, and also confident that none of the three boys would ever say things like that in such a childish way, not even to your face, your suspicion had begun to arouse. The possible real story behind it all had been partially confirmed a few nights ago, supporting what you’d been speculating; troubled by Harry’s questionable information, you’d taken it upon yourself to call Charlie on the phone in secret, while Harry had been out of the house. In the conversation that ensued, Charlie had assured you that he hadn’t said anything remotely like Harry’s latest claim, and on top of that, he’d asked you if you’d really said something that Harry had reported to him, which hadn’t been true, either. It was all becoming apparent now – the only person who has a problem here is Harry himself.

You remember how annoyed he’d been after you’d spent the night at Brian’s, seeming bothered that you’d gone out and had a good time, even after he’d encouraged you to do just that. That alone was a little hard to understand, and he hadn’t mentioned it since, instead seeming content to begin to play games with you all, telling one person one thing, and somebody else another. Whatever his motive is, it’s serving to paint you in a rather unflattering light, and you’re not a fan of it. You’d hoped that, given some good practises together with the band, it would blow over, but unfortunately, that hadn’t been the case. As you tell Brian all of this, it becomes more apparent to you that you should probably try to corner Harry and get to the bottom of it, despite his increasingly elusive nature recently. When you finally finish your lengthy monologue, Brian shares your concerned gaze, both of you having momentarily forgotten about your food.

“Sorry, that was a lot to say,” you admit apologetically, but he shakes his head.

“No, it’s alright,” he replies soothingly. “That’s really awful of him.” He slides his hand across the table to grasp yours, and you find yourself smiling at how supportive he is.

“I just don’t really understand it,” you say, your brow creasing. “We’ve always told each other everything, but he’s acting really strange. I wish he’d just talk to me about whatever’s bothering him.” Brian lets go of your hand as you both return to your sandwiches, hoping to shake the worrisome conversation, but before you can suggest another topic, a familiar face shows itself over Brian’s shoulder. You jolt a little as you recognise Harry’s features emerging from the crowd, glad that he hadn’t arrived while you’d been in the middle of talking about him. Wanting to ensure that nothing awkward is said, you clear your throat just loud enough for Brian to hear, maintaining your gaze towards Harry, who’s making his way over to your table. Thankfully, Brian looks up at the sound, following your eyeline and noticing him. Not wanting things to be unpleasant, you feign normality as you greet Harry.

“Surprise visit?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “I thought I might find you here.” His eyes move to contemplate Brian as he says this, seeming to insinuate something without actually saying it. “Are you busy? I wanted to talk to you about the band.” Unsure of what this conversation will entail exactly, you agree to chat, and he goes in search of a spare chair, plonking it at the end of the table between you and Brian, and taking a seat. You try to read his body language, but he seems a little guarded.

“I just wanted to go over this set list,” he says casually. “We’ve been playing the same one for ages – we need to change things up a bit, now that we’ve got a couple of new songs.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you reply, a little relieved to see that his intentions appear to just be business as usual. “Sorry Brian, do you mind?” You shoot him an awkward look, hoping that he’s not annoyed by the sudden intrusion, but he doesn’t seem to be.

“No, it’s fine,” he replies, leaning back in his seat and turning his attention back to his half-eaten sandwich. Harry delves into his bag, producing several pieces of paper after a moment’s rummaging. One is the same set list you’d already completed together a while ago, the songs scribbled haphazardly in both your handwriting and Harry’s, in various places. The second one looks to be a list of the new songs that are being considered for the updated version, all scrawled in Harry’s scruffy, higgledy-piggledy font.

“I thought we should see which of these new ones will sound best,” he says, business-like, “and probably switch out a few of these old ones. We don’t want to get boring.” You nod in agreement, and the pair of you begin to concentrate, talking seriously as you consider your choices.

To the contrary of how things have been going with Harry recently, the atmosphere seems to relax as the two of you discuss the songs, Harry beginning to act more like his usual self. He doesn’t even mind when Brian chimes in momentarily to voice his opinion about a song you’d been considering kicking off the list, listening and nodding to the advice. At one point, he points to a song that you feel as though you could do with axing from the list, and without any consultation, both you and Harry exclaim “out!” in unison, causing Brian to chuckle at you. The minutes go by easily, and as you finish off your sandwich between sentences, you find yourself looking down at an almost complete set list – there’s just one spot left to fill.

“Right,” Harry continues, “for this last one, I think we should do Tom’s new song. What do you think?” You find yourself frowning at the suggestion, not particularly a fan of it.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s quite right for us,” you tell him in earnest. “It’s not a terrible song, I just think it sticks out like a sore thumb, since it’s such a different style. Do you know what I mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side, contemplating it, before shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, it is different, but I think that’s the beauty of it,” he replies. “No one will expect a song like that after hearing the others. It’ll blow people’s minds!” He’s enthusiastic, but it’s not really making you feel any better about it, humming in uncertainty.

“I’m not sure,” you say, furrowing your brow. “I think it might be a bit too different. You’re right, people won’t expect it, but I don’t think it’ll be in a good way.” Harry leans back in his chair suddenly, his demeanour changing slightly as he shoots you an annoyed look.

“Being an arse about this one, aren’t you?” Feeling a pang of worry in your stomach, you hope that he’s not about to start acting bossy and antagonistic again.

“I don’t mean to be,” you reply honestly, “I just don’t think it’s going to do us any favours playing it. I’m not saying it’s a terrible song, it’s just one that doesn’t quite suit us, in my opinion. I don’t know how everybody else feels about it though – shouldn’t we ask the others?” When you say this, Harry’s eyes narrow slightly, and your hopes for an amicable conclusion to the discussion are dashed as his face takes on a slight sneer.

“Oh, so you care now, do you?” The question, completely stupid and unnecessary, jabs at you almost physically as you feel annoyance rise within you.

“Obviously,” you state flatly, trying not to take his bait. “We should consult everyone before we make big decisions.”

“Well,” he starts, his tone of voice now lower and less friendly, “that’d be great, if we were all in the same place at the same time more often.” His eyes dart quickly towards Brian as he smirks, returning to you so speedily, you barely caught it, but the insinuation was there; he still doesn’t like the fact that some of your free time is spent with Brian. Knowing that your activities don’t really get in the way of the band, especially as the time has to be right for all five of you for practise to happen, you get a sinking feeling in your gut, suspecting that due to Harry’s stubbornness, this is a disagreement that’s not going to end favourably for you. You also feel worse when you watch Brian’s expression fall slightly as he looks down at the table, knowing that he caught Harry’s suggestion at his expense too. Looking a little uncomfortable, he pipes up, to your surprise.

“I wouldn’t keep her from practise,” he says quietly but firmly, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. “We can always get together on the days that band work isn’t an option.” You sense a tiny hint of scolding in his voice, as though he’s trying to pull Harry out of his misconceptions and back to reality, attempting to be a voice of reason. You feel for him, getting involved with an awkward conversation like this, hoping that Harry won’t tread on his feelings further.

“Oh no, Brian,” Harry replies, seeming almost cheerful as he regards him, “it’s not you I’m worried about.” He then turns back to you, beaming at you with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, and it just about sets your blood boiling – he can be so obnoxious.

“Harry-“ You falter, unsure of how to address the situation, feeling anger pulsing through your veins, but at the same time, not wanting to cause a scene. However, you have to admit that the fact that Harry’s now acting like this in front of people outside of the band is really making you want to just confront him about everything – it’s getting out of hand. Trying to collect yourself, you continue.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I know you’ve been lying.” Harry crosses his arms defensively at this, but says nothing, leering at you as though inviting you to try to interrogate him. “I talked to Charlie the other night. He never said any of that stuff you told me he did, and apparently, you told him a load of crap that I’m supposed to have said about him, too. You realise that you can’t just lie to people?” A sort of shadow passes over Harry’s expression, as though he’s trying to hide his annoyance at being found out, but his smirk still stays in place.

“So you’re talking about me to Charlie behind my back?”

“That’s not the point, Harry,” you retort, your voice coming higher than you’d intended in irritation. “The point is that you’ve started acting really weird recently, and no one gets it at all. What’s bothering you?” His face doesn’t betray anything, leaving you clueless as to what he’s thinking.

“There’s nothing different about me,” he replies calmly, yet with an annoying grin that suggests that he’s enjoying how riled up you are. “It’s you who’s changed.”

“I have not changed,” you shoot back quickly. “Just because we’ve made new friends and I’ve got a boyfriend doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the band anymore. We always used to do everything together, as a team, and now you’re bossing people about, spreading rumours about everyone and trying to turn the others against me.” As you mention Brian, you reach across the table and touch his hand softly, attempting to apologise for his getting caught in the middle of all of this. Brian takes your hand in return, but seems to have decided to stay out of the conflict, keeping quiet. Harry doesn’t say anything, so you continue your tirade, enjoying the feeling of getting it off your chest. “It’s like you’re trying to make yourself the leader of the band, and we’ve been through this before – there is no leader, it’s five equal people. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” You seem to have finally hit a nerve with something you said, as Harry scowls at you, becoming outwardly angry.

“I’m not trying to be the leader,” he spits, almost shouting, and you feel a little embarrassed as you realise that a couple of people sitting nearby have turned their heads to look at the pair of you. “I’m just filling in the gaps that you’re leaving.”

“I’m not leaving any gaps,” you reply. “I’ve put exactly the same amount of effort into this as I always have done.”

“Well, I don’t think you care anymore,” he says darkly, snatching the set lists up from the table and stuffing them carelessly back into his bag. “So if that’s the case, I think someone needs to step up and do something.” He stands up, scraping his chair loudly against the floor, and more heads turn in your direction.

“Are you kicking me out?” you exclaim incredulously, scarcely able to believe his words. “Is that what you’re saying?” Harry glares horribly at you, almost looking like a different person entirely, and for a moment, the pair of you simply lock eyes, neither one of you saying anything.

Then, something completely unexpected and truly awful happens; Harry snorts scornfully before grabbing the saucer underneath your cup of tea, flipping it and sending the cup flying towards you, completely on purpose. Before you can react, what’s left of the hot liquid inside splashes into your lap, sinking through the material of your dress and burning your legs. You jump in your seat, both at the abruptness of his movement and the pain of the scalding tea, some of it dripping down your legs, staining your tights. You find yourself unable to react for a moment, completely flummoxed at Harry’s audacity, in disbelief that he would ever do something so horrible to you, and in public, too. Hearing a few gasps, you look up to see that about half of the students in the sandwich bar have now begun staring incredulously at the scene, looking almost as shocked at Harry’s actions as you are. It’s a bit overwhelming, and as you gaze up at Harry, feeling more upset with each second that passes, you hear a second scraping sound as Brian stands up this time. He looks more cross than you’ve ever seen him, regarding Harry with an angered expression.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he says in a half-shout, surprising you with his boldness. Harry says nothing to either of you in return, simply walking away and exiting the room without a second glance. Still struggling to make sense of everything that just happened, you look at Brian somewhat helplessly, and though his outraged expression remains, he grabs the couple of unused napkins laying next to his drink and comes around the table, placing them into your soggy lap. He then heads off to the counter to grab some more for you, and a girl you aren’t familiar with leans over from a table nearby, offering her own napkin and asking if you’re okay. This sparks several other concerned students to come forwards, fussing over you, and though it’s rather embarrassing, you appreciate their consideration in the face of your brother’s rudeness – how could he do this to you?

Brian returns with a fistful of napkins and a tea towel that he must have borrowed from one of the bar staff, handing the towel to you, and seeing that you’re being taken care of, the other students go back to their conversations slowly, the entire room probably gossiping about you now. You begin to rub at your dress with the towel, although it feels sort of fruitless, not seeming to make much difference. Meanwhile, Brian drops to his knees beside your chair, taking one of your legs in his hands and carefully wiping the tracks of the tea that ran down it. You find yourself forgetting about trying to dry your dress, watching him with affection through your disgruntlement as he does his best to clean you up, stroking your legs as he works as if to comfort you. Sighing heavily, you try to let go of the stress of the awful confrontation, and instead, appreciate Brian’s care for you.

“Don’t worry, Brian,” you say defeatedly, “I don’t think it’ll come off easily.” He stops wiping, looking up at you with less anger than before, his eyes softening into deep concern.

“Are you burnt? Do you need some ice?”

“No, I’m alright,” you reply, “it wasn’t incredibly hot. I think it just shocked me more than anything.” Brian exhales loudly, looking troubled.

“I should have said something earlier,” he says regretfully, “told him to get lost before he did that to you.” You shake your head.

“No, it’s not your fault at all,” you reply honestly. “I really didn’t think anything like that would ever happen. That’s…” You find yourself trailing off momentarily in dejection at being treated like that by your own brother, your best friend. “…it’s not like him at all.”

“Has he ever hurt you like that before?”

“No, never. We’ve always had arguments since we were little, but nothing physical. Well, not beyond a harmless smack, anyway.” Recalling the years you’ve grown up alongside Harry, you know this to be true – he’s always been on your side in the end, your insignificant spats falling by the wayside in the wake of your friendship. This is something entirely different, and you hate it. Brian hums in contemplation.

“I sort of appreciate growing up as an only child, now.” He meets your eyes, and the both of you share a wan smile at his dark humour. “Are you going to go home?” he asks, nodding towards your damp dress. “I imagine it’s not very comfortable.” Thinking about it for a moment, you decide not to let Harry’s attack disrupt your routine – you’d planned on attending afternoon classes, and you’re going to stick to it.

“I think I’ll just try to dry it with the hand dryer in the toilets,” you reply, rolling your eyes at your pitiful situation. “I have class to get on with.” Luckily, the dress you’re wearing is a relatively dark colour, so once it dries a bit more, the tea splatter shouldn’t look too obvious. It’ll have to do until you get home to wash it. “In fact,” you continue, catching sight of the time on the watch on Brian’s wrist, “I’d better do that now, otherwise I won’t get there on time.” Brian nods, still looking a little sombre, and stands up, taking the dirtied napkins and towel from you. He clears everything away for the both of you, returning your trays and the borrowed towel, before coming back to your side and offering his hand to you. Smiling at the care he shows for you, you take it and allow him to help you to your feet, heading into the hallway with him. Once there, amid the throng of people returning to their classrooms from lunch, Brian turns to you, taking your other hand and stroking them both lovingly.

“Are you going to be okay tonight, being at home with him?” It hadn’t occurred to you yet, but the house will certainly have a horrible atmosphere after college, not to mention if Harry tries to do something awful again. “You can come home with me if you like,” Brian offers, his voice quiet with concern. “I don’t want you to have to face him by yourself if you don’t want to.” Touched by his care, you’re tempted for a moment, but as you replay the events of today in your mind, you realise that you need to try to stop this madness once and for all – it’d be better to go home and try to talk it out with Harry calmly, if that’s even possible.

“I’d like to,” you say with a small smile, “but I think I’d better try and sort things out with him. We can’t keep going like this.” He looks slightly disappointed, but nods understandingly at your choice. “And mum will be there,” you add, trying to ease his worry, “so I won’t be alone if he flies off the handle again.” The presence of your mother in the house might actually help to quell Harry’s rage a bit, hopefully making it easier to talk to him properly without another argument starting.

“Okay,” Brian says, “well, just call me if you need me. You can still come over, if things get worse. Just let me know – I can come and pick you up if you don’t want to walk alone.” You find yourself sinking into his chest at his words, your arms going around him, and he returns the embrace tightly.

“I really appreciate that, Brian,” you mumble against him, and he strokes your hair gently, making you wish that you didn’t have to say goodbye to him. “I’d better go,” you say sadly, prising yourself from him, knowing that you’re running out of time to attempt to sort yourself out before heading back to your lectures.

“Alright,” Brian responds softly, pulling you back towards him gently to place a kiss on your forehead. You feel the blush rise in your cheeks – he’s wonderful. Going up onto your toes slightly, you lean to kiss him properly, and he returns it gladly, neither of you wanting to part, though reluctantly, you force yourself to. “Give me a ring tomorrow and let me know how things go,” Brian asks, “if I don’t hear from you tonight.” You nod in agreement, and he says a quiet goodbye before planting one more kiss on your cheek, smiling as cheerfully as he can before heading off down the corridor, leaving you to make your pitiful excursion to the toilets. As you go, you’re shaken with trepidation at what might happen tonight when you get home, but at the same time, grateful for Brian’s support, at least slightly bolstered with the knowledge that he’ll be there for you if things go awry – you’ll just have to hope that they don’t.

__

The rest of your college day had passed by as usual, though your mood had been dampened, both figuratively and literally, by what had happened at lunch; you really hadn’t expected anything like that to happen, and the shock of it still fills you with nerves, feeling strange to be having this feeling towards your own brother. Now at home and sitting at the dinner table at your mother’s request, you chew your lip in worry as she places the food onto the table, shouting upstairs to Harry again, who didn’t come down with you. You hadn’t seen Harry yet since lunch, as he’d been hiding away in his room when you’d arrived home, and you hadn’t quite figured out what you were going to say at that point, so you’d left him alone. As you sprinkle some salt onto your potatoes, he appears, not looking at you as he plops himself down into his chair, picking up his knife and fork and starting to eat straight away. You glance across at him, but he doesn’t look up, so you resign yourself to eating your dinner, hoping that he won’t be this evasive all night.

“So,” your mother begins, looking between the two of you, “how’s college going? You’re finally graduating this year.” She seems excited at the prospect, and you have to admit that you are too, although while not having to go to college anymore sounds great, having to get a boring job certainly doesn’t – you’d much rather earn a living through music. Though you aren’t speaking just now, you imagine that the same thing is running through Harry’s mind.

“It’s okay,” you reply, “I might go to a couple of extra lectures to make sure I’m not missing anything.” Knowing how your mother values education and wants the both of you to do well, you try to give off a relatively studious air, and she seems to appreciate it.

“Oh, good,” she exudes with a smile, “it’s always worth over-preparing. I’m assuming you’ll be seeing less of Brian once it gets closer to the exams?” You almost crumple in exasperation as she says this, the feeling growing stronger when you hear Harry exhale a quiet laugh in response.

“I’ll make sure I have enough time to study,” you say, not necessarily confirming anything. She seems relatively satisfied, turning to Harry with her questions.

“How about you, Harry? Been getting on alright?” Harry grimaces, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, mum,” he says dismissively, and she doesn’t seem too convinced.

“Just ‘fine’? You need to make sure you’re doing the right things, Harry. You can’t get back time you’ve wasted.” He squirms in his seat, stuffing his mouth full of roast ham instead of answering. Your mother continues, regarding the both of you as she speaks. “I’d like it if you both made your studies your main priority – don’t go spending too much time on hobbies. Give the band a rest while you focus on this.” Both you and Harry practically throw your heads into your hands at this, and although you do your best to disguise your reaction, not wanting to annoy your mother, Harry makes a fuss, rolling his eyes incredulously.

“Muuuuuuum!” he whines, and you can tell that he’s probably about to start what will turn into an argument, so hoping to diffuse the situation, you jump in before he can say any more.

“Don’t worry, mum, we’ll make sure we’re ready for the exams,” you say, shooting Harry a gentle but warning look. He actually meets your eyes this time, taking you by surprise. “We can study together during lunch at college, and when we get home.” By ‘study together’, you’d secretly meant ‘socialise with Brian’, but you’re not about to tell her that; you aren’t too worried about the exams, but knowing what your mother’s like, you want to give off the impression of working hard. You’re also attempting to make it seem as though Harry will knuckle down with you, and you almost roll your eyes at your efforts to make him look better despite how horrible he was to you today. Thankfully, Harry seems to catch onto what you’re doing, looking thoughtfully at you before finally piping up.

“Actually, Roger’s good at biology,” he says, his eyes sliding back to you. “He might be able to help us.” Realising what he’s saying, you almost jump out of your seat at his perfect facade that will allow you both to spend some evenings out of the house, under the guise of studying with Roger.

“Of course,” you exude, “why didn’t I think of that? He’s already graduated – he’ll be able to give us an idea of what the exams are like.” Naturally, you completely omit the fact that Roger only managed a degree in biology, while the two of you are on postgraduate studies, not to mention the additional fact that he barely scraped a pass, replying only that he’d got ‘not a very good grade’ when you’d quizzed him. Almost laughing at the deception, you make an effort to keep your face straight, turning back to your mother. She seems to think about it seriously for a moment before replying.

“Well, any help you can get certainly wouldn’t go amiss,” she says, mulling it over. “As long as you don’t spend too much time socialising.” She looks seriously at the two of you, and you both shake your heads, feigning innocence.

“No, we won’t,” you reply, “we’ll come straight home afterwards.” Harry nods with extra enthusiasm, and it’s funny enough that you can’t look directly at him for worry of bursting out laughing. You’re not sure exactly what his outlook towards you is after what happened at lunch, but the fact that the pair of you seem to be able to fall back into your usual sibling antics seems to suggest something optimistic.

“Alright, well, I suppose it can’t hurt,” your mother concedes, “although I’d like to talk to Roger every now and then to make sure he’s not wasting your time. I’m assuming you have his phone number?” Both you and Harry almost giggle at the thought of your mother calling Roger up without warning, demanding to know what incredible knowledge he’s been imparting to her children. Squashing your amusement, you start to wonder if using Roger as a scapegoat is even going to work, but it’s too late now – you’ll have to get him to play along.

“Yeah, I’ll give it to you when we’ve finished eating,” Harry replies, a little too much of a grin on his face. “I’m sure he won’t mind.” The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, the two of you smiling into your plates. Once everything’s cleared away, Harry gives your mother the number for Sinclair Road, and you sincerely hope she doesn’t call too often. Excusing yourself, you practically dash up the stairs, trying to hold in your laughter as Roger’s voice rings all too clearly in your head in a hypothetical worst case scenario.

“Oh yes, they’re both here. Harry’s drinking himself unconscious on the sofa, and his sister’s just upstairs, having some ‘alone time’ with Brian!”

__

After the somewhat comedic dinner, both you and Harry had retreated to your rooms separately, almost as if your mischievous teamwork at the table hadn’t happened. You’d attempted to study a little, though struggled to concentrate somewhat, trying to figure out how best to approach talking to Harry; while he’d seemed to be more like himself at dinner, he still isn’t giving you a chance to say anything, disappearing at the first available moment. You’re not sure if he’s even sorry about throwing the tea all over you. Sighing and remembering that you had, indeed, been cheated out of enjoying the last of your cup of tea, you go downstairs to make yourself one. Spying your mother watching tv in the living room, you ask her if she wants one too, but she declines with a smile, so you fill the kettle for yourself, stretching lazily as you wait for it to boil. After a moment, you feel an extra presence behind you, and turning to face the living room door, you see Harry making his way across the room towards you, smiling briefly at your mother as he passes. Unsure of how he’ll act, you brace yourself just in case he’s about to hurl more abuse your way.

“Is there enough in there for two?” he asks, nodding towards the kettle, which is still heating up.

“Probably, just about,” you reply, and he crosses the room to the cupboard, getting out an extra cup. After he places it on the counter next to yours, silence falls upon the room, as neither of you say anything, simply waiting for the hot water to be ready. It’s a bit awkward, and as Harry stands there, arms folded as he stares at nothing in particular, you start to run through what you might say to him in your mind. To your surprise, he beats you to it.

“That was pretty funny at dinner,” he says, not looking at you, although his tone of voice is relatively casual. You have to agree with him.

“Yeah. Nice plan, by the way.” He meets your eyes, looking mildly amused.

“Roger?” he mouths, not wanting your mother to overhear from the living room, and you nod. “See, sis, I always have the best ideas.” This is a very typical ‘Harry’ thing for him to say, but given his recent behaviour, it feels a little uncomfortable to hear. He goes quiet again, and you feel as though you need to clarify your intentions.

“You realise that I’m 100% not giving up the band just because we have exams, right?” You say it with a laugh, glancing towards the living room. Your mother seems to be watching some sort of comedy show, as bouts of laughter keep erupting from the tv, the noise making you somewhat confident that she can’t hear you, as long as you speak quietly. Harry regards you for a moment with an expression you can’t quite read, but eventually snorts in amusement.

“Good,” he replies, “I wouldn’t dream of it, either. I don’t really care about the exams – I just want to see what we can do with the band.” You nod, understanding his viewpoint; while you’re more serious about your studies than Harry is, you would like to really give music a proper go, and see if it takes you anywhere. Knowing that even a group as popular as Queen haven’t managed anything yet does dash your hopes slightly, but determination is something that you and Harry have in common, so you’re not about to give up yet.

“Let’s work extra hard after we graduate,” you say to him seriously. “If we give it all we’ve got, we might manage to make some proper money.” Harry nods enthusiastically, and then his sharp, sarcastic tone reappears.

“By the way, I know we’re not gonna be having schoolboy study sessions with Roger, but I’m already prepared for you swanning off with Brian half the time, so don’t even bother telling me about it.” You hear yourself sighing heavily, disappointed that he had to bring that subject back. Praying that another argument doesn’t ensue, you brace yourself as you reply.

“Don’t say that, Harry. I’m not going to be swanning off with him all the time. Of course, I want to see him, but we have music to work on, and so do Queen, anyway. I don’t know what the hell went through your head today, but I mean it when I say that I’m committed to this band. I love spending time with Brian, but we made this thing first, you and I. I’m not dropping it for Brian, or studying, or anything.” You regret saying all of that with such annoyance present in your voice, unsure of how Harry will react. However, it seems as though some of it got through to him; he doesn’t look at you, but slowly bows his head to contemplate the floor in what seems like a sudden change in demeanour – he actually looks somewhat apologetic, for once. Perhaps your alluding to the tea incident, albeit without actually mentioning it, did it.

“Did you tell mum why you had tea all over your dress?” His voice comes much more quietly as he asks this, almost shyly, his eyes averted. Looking intensely at him, you wonder if he’s genuinely feeling guilty about it, or just doesn’t want to get into further trouble with your mother.

“No,” you reply, telling him the truth, “I pretended I’d just been clumsy and spilt it on myself.” You aren’t sure why you’d defended Harry again, letting your mother believe a lie to spare him having to endure her wrath. After the way he was so rude to you today, you’d probably be justified in telling everybody exactly what he’d done. However, feeling strongly in your gut that Harry will always be your best friend, as well as your brother, you’d ended up covering for him, hoping that the gesture would convey to him that you don’t want to be at odds with him like this.

After a few moments of silence, the kettle begins to slowly erupt with noise, the steam filling the air between you, and you move to retrieve it. Harry simply stands there watching you prepare the tea for the both of you, not acknowledging what you’d said about lying on his behalf. Once the tea is ready, you turn and hand his cup to him, and he takes it, his mouth opening and closing as though he wants to say something, but can’t quite figure it out. Standing there, you look up at him hopefully, wanting him to say something, anything – any terrible excuse for an apology will do. Instead, he withdraws from you a little, stepping backwards towards the living room, before uttering a very quiet “thanks”, so quiet in fact, that you’d barely heard it. He then turns and leaves, and after he disappears out of sight, you hear his footsteps thumping distantly as he retreats upstairs to his room.

The tension in the room dissipating, you exhale loudly, releasing the stress that had built up inside you; it wasn’t exactly the apology or happy reconciliation you’d hoped for, but Harry had looked genuinely sorry for a second, and you suppose that’ll have to do for now. Hoping that this means that the arguments and petty back-stabbing will stop, you take a sip of your tea and make your way towards the phone, dialling the number for Sinclair Road. The call is answered after only a few short rings, but the seconds stretch themselves out in your mind as you long to hear the familiar, comforting voice that appears on the other end of the line.

“Hello, who is it?”

“Hi Brian, it’s me.”

“Oh – is everything alright, my love? Are you okay?” Hearing the way his voice takes on such a serious tone so quickly, wanting to ensure your happiness, you smile, knowing that if you asked him for anything at all, he would surely do it.

“Yeah,” you reply, feeling yourself calm down from such an unpleasant day. “I think everything’s alright now.”


	14. From All This Gloom, Life Can Start Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With how awful things have been between you and Harry recently, you're grateful to have a hilarious morning at Sinclair Road, where Freddie has come to visit, and the pair of you end up laughing your heads off at Brian's expense. Later on, your band has its first practise since the argument, and you're worried about how it's going to go, and if Harry will cause another scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Queenies! Just wanted to say thanks for your patience in waiting for these last couple of chapters. I've been super busy recently, as I'm moving house soon, so it's been hard to fit writing in between things. However, I should be able to write at least one more chapter before I move, and then it'll be much easier! Thanks for sticking with it <3

“I think it went brilliantly, Fred,” you say cheerily. “I told you they’d love it.” Freddie beams happily across to you from his seat opposite, and the two of you share a warm chuckle as he casts his velvety eyes back down to the notebook resting on the table between you. Having spent the night at Sinclair Road to have some fun with Brian and Roger, as well as enjoying some alone time with Brian later on, you’d not been awake long this morning before there’d been a sharp, unexpected knocking at the door; Freddie, apparently bored after Mary had gone to work, had appeared unannounced, demanding in his trademark faux-magisterial manner to be entertained, though there had seemed to be another reason for his visit, as he’d brought the lovely hand-drawn Queen logo he’d shown you the other week, hoping to gain Brian and Roger’s approval. As you’d predicted, they’d seemed to like it a lot, leading Freddie to sport a satisfied grin, seeming pleased with himself. Brian and Roger have just left the flat to go and buy a few groceries, as dismay had erupted when Roger had discovered a few moments ago that there was no milk left to make tea with. Just the two of you for now, you and Freddie recline nonchalantly in your seats, happy to have nothing to do for the moment other than relax and enjoy each other’s company. Turning your attention to the music wafting over to you from the record player, you find yourself nodding along.

“This is nice, Fred,” you comment, and he smiles again.

“Oh yes, I really enjoy Joni Mitchell,” he replies, picking up the record sleeve to peruse its track list. Reading the title of the record on its reverse, ‘Court And Spark’, you make a mental note of it, contemplating buying it in the future. Freddie then places the record sleeve down and regards you with an interested expression. “So,” he emits chirpily, “how are you and Brian getting along? I’m still thrilled that the two of you got together!” A smile instantly creeps across your face.

“It’s going very well,” you confirm. “It’s still early days, but I’m having a really good time with him.”

“I bet you are,” he responds quickly, a cheeky glint in his eye, and the pair of you start to laugh at his lascivious suggestion, Freddie reaching over to slap your knee affectionately – he loves to giggle.

“You could say that,” you add, and his hand comes up to cover a fresh bout of laughter. “I wasn’t sure when it would happen, though – it took him long enough to kiss me!” Freddie chuckles again, but then softens slightly, looking thoughtful.

“Well, that’s our Brian, isn’t it?” he says with a nod. “He’s always been nervous when it comes to girls, but I’m glad that he plucked up the courage to ask you out. I think you make a splendid couple.” His cheekbones peek out prominently as he beams at you again. “I bet he’s a real gentleman with you!” You find yourself having to tone down your huge grin as you think about how affectionate Brian is towards you.

“He is,” you reply somewhat dreamily. “He should be more confident in himself – he’s really good at everything.” Both you and Freddie seem to realise at exactly the same time how rudely that sentence could be taken, and meeting eyes, the two of you burst into laughter again.

“Now, now,” Freddie chides jokingly, waggling a scolding finger at you, “I don’t need to be hearing all about how good Brian is in the bedroom, dear. He’s my bandmate, after all!” His telling-off only makes you more amused, especially as Freddie himself starts to laugh at his own comment.

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you,” you retort with a grin, “but now that you’ve mentioned it, he’s brilliant – the best in the bloody world!” You’d hoped to embarrass Freddie with the exaggeration, but you’re not sure if it worked or not, as he just begins laughing even more loudly, and you can’t help but join in. Sharing silly and often rude banter with Freddie has become one of your favourite things of all time.

“Oh yes,” Freddie exudes, his cheeks starting to turn a little pink from laughing so much, “I bet he completely changes.” His wish to not hear about your bedroom antics apparently evaporated, he leans forwards in his chair towards you, his eyes twinkling with amusement and audacity. “Is he a real tiger?” His words cause you to snort slightly as you laugh, not expecting the question, and wanting to match his boldness, you adopt a similar posture, leaning into his gaze and returning his earlier slap to your knee. “Wouldn’t you like to know, you tart?” Freddie’s voice grows even more high as he throws his head back in laughter, displaying almost all of his teeth, dignity forgotten in the moment, and you find yourself holding your stomach, aching slightly from your own chortling.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath, but just as you’re about to change the subject in an attempt to calm down, the universe bestows upon you a brilliant moment of perfect timing; the door to the flat swings open to reveal none other than Brian himself, grocery bag in hand, and as both you and Freddie turn your heads to see, the sight of him causes the pair of you to explode with more laughter, howling madly at how perfectly he’d shown up just as you’d been gossiping about his bedroom prowess. Brian’s face instantly becomes very bemused, and as Roger files in through the door behind him, he adopts the same expression as the pair of them regard your shaking forms with confusion. The two of you attempt, rather unsuccessfully, to rein in your laughter, rocking back and forth in your chairs as you shriek, having completely lost the plot.

“Well,” Roger emits, starting to laugh himself, “we leave you alone for five minutes, and here you are, cackling away like a pair of old hags!”

“What on Earth is so funny?” Brian asks, and it almost makes it worse for a second, before you finally wrestle your composure back into place, your guts sore from laughing so hard.

“Nothing,” you reply, imagining his embarrassed face if he knew what you and Freddie had been talking about. “We just got a bit carried away.”

“I’ll say,” he replies, his eyebrows arching in amusement as he grins. He then holds up the bag in his hand. “Got the milk,” he announces, and Roger slips past him, grabbing the bag as he goes, addressing the room with a hearty “tea’s on me!”. As he crosses the room to make you all a cup, Brian perches next to you on the arm of the sofa you’re sitting on, putting his arm around you and kissing your head affectionately. “I take it you’re having a good morning, then?” he says with a smile, exhaling a laugh as he looks between you and Freddie.

“Definitely,” Freddie replies, a hint of suggestion still lingering in his face as he shoots you a look, and the pair of you sigh in amusement once more before calming down. As you lean into Brian’s side, the sounds of the Joni Mitchell record reach your ears again, and for a moment during the cacophony of your laughter, you’d forgotten that it had been playing, drowned out by your voices. Roger returns, placing cups of tea onto the small table between you, and you all thank him enthusiastically and take a sip. Unfortunately, a reminder of today’s schedule pops up in your mind as you drink, and you relent that you’d better not stay here too much longer; today will be the first practise you and your band have had since the argument between you and Harry. The memory of him throwing the tea all over you still stings in your mind, but as Harry seems to have calmed down a little since then, perhaps in remorse, you’re hoping that things won’t ever get to that level of discomfort again. You’d all agreed that today was the best day to practise, and though you’re looking forward to it in your optimism that the situation will be better now, you’re also worried that there might be another scene, which is the last thing any of you need. What will be will be, you suppose. Thinking back to the day of the argument, you also remember the ruse that you and Harry had come up with in an unexpected moment of teamwork – the lie of having Roger tutor you in biology as an excuse to come here more often. A smile breaking your composure, you realise that nobody else has any clue about this.

“Oh, Roger,” you pipe up, and he looks at you enquiringly, having just sat down. “We need you to lie for us, by the way.”

“I’m doing what, now?” he replies, looking equally confused and curious.

“Mum wants Harry and I to stop spending so much free time hanging out, since exams are coming up in a couple of months,” you explain, and for a split second, you feel Brian’s arm tighten slightly around your shoulder. You have to internally acknowledge his disappointment fondly, feeling touched at his wish to spend time with you as often as possible. “So we came up with a great idea to keep coming here and make it seem totally educational.” Roger cocks an eyebrow at you as he grins.

“And what’s that, exactly?”

“Well,” you continue, grinning at him as you over-exaggerate, “you did biology, didn’t you? I’m sure you’re absolutely brimming with knowledge that’ll help Harry and I with our exams.” As everyone understands your proposition, they all bark with laughter, knowing full well how preposterous a suggestion it would be realistically, considering that Roger didn’t exactly pass his degree with flying colours.

“I like it!” Freddie exclaims. “A perfect ruse!”

“Exactly,” you confirm, “and I can keep coming round to hang out. You’ll have to make it sound real, though,” you add, and Roger gains a worried expression.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she made us give her your phone number so she can check up on how the ‘lessons’ are going.” Freddie claps in amusement at this, and Brian looks equally tickled by the situation. While seeming a little overwhelmed, Roger grins and nods his head.

“So, what you’re saying is – I’m going to be getting a lot of phone calls from your mother from now on?” Freddie and Brian chuckle again as you throw a cushion at Roger for his rude suggestion. “No, but alright,” he concedes, “go on, I’ll do it. Let’s make up a load of rubbish and make me sound dead smart.” More giggles ensue, and you’re grateful that he’s willing to play along.

“Thanks Rog, you’re saving our sanity. I know I have to study, but if the only rooms I ever see are the lecture hall and my own bedroom, I think I’ll go mad.”

“This is going to be fun,” he says, grinning, and you return it before settling down again, taking another sip of your tea. When you raise your head from placing the cup back down onto the table, Brian catches your eye with a soft smile, and you can’t help but return it.

“What time do you have to leave?” he asks, and you check the time on the clock hanging on the wall opposite you.

“In about half an hour, I think,” you reply, and he nods, looking slightly downcast at the idea of saying goodbye to you.

“Did you want to go back upstairs for a bit?” he asks more quietly, looking bashful. “I’d like to just, you know… sit and cuddle a bit more before you leave.” You can’t hide the smile that breaks across your face as he says this, your stomach fluttering as you relish his affection – he’s so sentimental, and you love it.

“Alright,” you agree, and he withdraws to let you stand up from the sofa and retrieve your cup of tea to take with you. Freddie and Roger are now chatting about something else, so you don’t feel too bad about deserting them. However, just as you’re about to step onto the staircase, the sound of Freddie’s voice, rich with suppressed laughter and innuendo, hits you unexpectedly.

“Yeah, why don’t you take Brian upstairs?” You feel your chest start to swell with amusement, fighting to keep it under wraps as your earlier gossiping floods back into your head, but just as you open your mouth to shoot back a sarcastic retort, you lose control once more, and nothing but explosive laughter comes out. A split second later, Freddie’s own laughter comes barrelling out of him, and the pair of you are exactly as you had been when Brian had walked into the room earlier. Wanting to spare your stomach from more pain, you continue to ascend the stairs after Brian, trying your hardest not to spill your tea as you shake, leaving Roger to deal with Freddie as he screams away like a banshee.

__

Your shoes meet the familiar muddy brown carpet nostalgically as you enter the rehearsal hall building; after enjoying some quiet, affectionate time with Brian, the both of you giggling as you’d heard Freddie struggling to control his laughter from the floor below, you’d had to prise yourself from him and make your way to band practise. Now that you’re here, a little pang of trepidation swells in your stomach as you pray that there are no arguments, no drama, just the five of you carrying on as normal. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you push the door open boldly, gathering your confidence and feigning your usual relaxed disposition. As you take in the room, you see that only Harry, Tom and Charlie are here so far – you’re not the last one to arrive this time. You’re also relieved that you’re arriving in normal fashion, having come here from a planned excursion to Sinclair Road, rather than an impromptu visit that left you looking somewhat bedraggled in your post-sex, same-clothes-as-yesterday attire. Tom and Charlie give you a short wave as you approach, and while Harry doesn’t seem to have any particular expression as he regards you, he nods briefly before returning his attention to his guitar - at least things seem to be relatively normal for now. Climbing up onto the stage, you pick up the microphone sitting in its case next to the stand, attaching the cable and putting it in place.

“Dave not here yet?” you ask, and Charlie shakes his head.

“Set off a bit late, I think,” he replies. “He should be here any minute, though.” As if his words had summoned him, Dave himself comes through the door, carrying his guitar and looking a little flustered. “Speak of the devil!” Charlie shouts with a grin, and Dave chuckles as he makes his way towards you all.

“Sorry! Got caught up doing errands for me mum.” There’s a small round of chuckles before he joins you on the stage, setting up his things. Though the atmosphere is relatively relaxed, you do sense a small bite of tension within it; while you and Charlie had had one phone conversation about Harry’s lying, you’re not sure exactly how much the others know about what’s going on, or to be more exact, how much their feelings may have been hurt about certain things. You’re also aware that, since Harry’s agenda had mostly focused on making you out to be a bad person, the other boys might view you with some distaste, even if they don’t feel strongly enough to confront you about it. Looking between them worriedly, you hope that you can draw everyone back together on the same page. With that in mind, you take another deep breath and clear your throat, mentally strapping on all the courage you have.

“Listen, guys,” you say in a friendly but firm voice, and all four of the boys turn to gaze at you attentively. Most of them look simply curious, but you can also see that there’s a hint of worry in their faces, as if they might be expecting something uncomfortable. Harry seems almost annoyed, which you think might stem from his recent efforts to be in control, and sharing the limelight with you probably isn’t something he wants. However, he stays quiet along with the rest of the boys, waiting for you to speak.

“I know things have been a bit weird lately,” you continue, watching with discomfort as Charlie, Tom and Dave start to nod vaguely, their shoulders drooping a little. “I think we had some crossed wires, and maybe some things were said that weren’t right.” Referencing Harry’s deceit as vaguely as you can, you hope that it doesn’t cause an explosive reaction from him. Surprisingly, he remains silent, still regarding you intently, so you carry on talking. “Basically, I suppose what I wanted to say is that I think we should forget about it all and just carry on as we were. Well, to be honest, we could get more serious, actually.” The four of them begin to look between each other, though nothing is said, so it’s hard to gauge what any of them are thinking. “We’re a really good band,” you say honestly, hoping that your fondness for all of them reaches them through your words. “I bet if we really knuckle down and work hard, we’ll be able to get somewhere with this. I know Harry and I have exams coming up, but we’ve already decided that we’re not going to put the band on the back-burner.” You glance across at Harry as you mention him, and while his expression remains relatively unreadable, he nods in agreement. “What do you think?” you ask them as a whole, hoping your leadership will entice them to follow suit and return to their usual optimistic outlooks. “Do you want to turn it up a notch?” Further silence follows, and you feel your nerves rise again, unsure if anything that you said got through to them, watching anxiously as Tom eventually raises his head to speak.

“Well, Queen said they like us,” he says quietly, “and they’re really good.” Dave starts to nod at his statement.

“Yeah, we must be worth something if they think we’re alright, don’t you reckon?” Tom and Charlie begin to smirk, nodding back and exhaling short laughs.

“We shouldn’t just waste it,” Charlie adds. “I know it’s hard finding time to get together, but isn’t playing gigs just the best thing in the world? We need to do more!” Ever the optimist, Charlie begins to rouse everyone with his enthusiasm, and you find yourself incredibly relieved to see smiles on their faces – it’s just what you’d hoped for. The only person who hasn’t changed their demeanour, however, is Harry, and you brace yourself for something potentially awful as he steps forward to be closer to everyone.

“You’re right, Charlie,” he says firmly, “we do need to do more. If we all put some serious effort in, we can make things different. The more gigs we do, the more potential fans will see us, and the more fans we have, the larger venues we’ll be able to play.” Excited by Harry’s words, you interject.

“And the more we appear in the public eye, the more chance there is of someone from a record company or something seeing us – that’s how people get signed!” You’d been glancing around at all of your fellow band members as you’d spoke, but feeling Harry’s gaze strongly on you, you turn to face him fully. Relief washes over you even more strongly when you see his vague smile, his eyes no longer piercing, but more warm and familiar – perhaps he’s starting to feel as though the two of you are back on the same page again.

“Ah, we need to get working!” Dave exclaims, visibly fired up from everything that’s been said, and Charlie and Tom are nodding in agreement – thank goodness for that. All is not lost after all.

“So, is that decided, then?” you ask more confidently. “Full speed ahead?”

“Full speed ahead!” Charlie parrots loudly, waving his sticks in the air madly, and the rest of you laugh heartily, the last of the awkwardness between you fading away. Relishing the familiar camraderie, you decide to keep up your motivational leadership.

“Right, in that case, let’s move on to our first order of business,” you announce, getting their attention again. “Harry and I did a provisional version of our new set list, ‘cause we really need to start playing some new songs. Tell us what you think of it, and if you want anything changing.” You turn to Harry, signalling for him to read out the set list for them, and after a moment’s hesitation, during which he simply contemplates you quietly, he nods and retrieves the list from his bag. Seeing the partially crumpled page sparks bitter memories of the argument that followed its creation, but swallowing your anger, you put it out of your mind, wanting to fully move on from such a horrible incident in the knowledge that nothing like that will ever happen again. Harry’s tone of voice becomes as business-like as yours had been as he reads out the set list you’d compiled, song by song, while the other boys listen intently. As he gets towards the end, you do feel one last pang of bitterness as you remember that you’d never actually resolved the issue of Tom’s song that Harry had wanted on the list, while you hadn’t. Considering his recent behaviour, it would be very typical of Harry to take that as an excuse to include it without your consent, and you find yourself growing anxious as he reels off the songs. However, you’re pleasantly surprised when he reaches the end without ever mentioning it – he must have taken your thoughts into account after all. What an unexpected turn of events. You find yourself gazing fondly at Harry, so glad that he’s started to behave like his old self again, and he glances at you for a second, flashing a brief smile before turning his attention back to the others.

“Any thoughts, things you don’t like?” he asks, and the others visibly mull it over for a moment before replying.

“It seems pretty decent to me,” Dave chimes in, and Charlie nods from behind him.

“Yeah, it’ll be weird to change the closer,” he says, “but I can see why you’ve done it. We can’t have the same act all the time.”

“Definitely not,” Harry replies with a grin. “Variety will help us stand out a bit. What about you, Tom?” At the mention of his name, Tom looks up, seeming to have been deep in thought.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he replies shyly. Tom has never been one to vocalise his opinions too often, but knowing that the song he’d recently written hasn’t made the set list is probably hurting his feelings a little, so you regard his lack of input somewhat guiltily. “It’ll probably feel better once we start playing it.”

“Exactly,” Harry chirps, seeming bolstered by everyone’s agreement. “Speaking of which, shall we get started?” He raises the neck of his guitar to emphasise his point, and everyone nods with a smile, moving into place and readying their instruments. Taking one last glance around at everyone, you make sure to really appreciate the moment – it seems as though the awkwardness and backstabbing hasn’t managed to really turn them against you, or the band in general, and moving forward like this is exactly what you’d wanted. Expelling the last of the tension from within you with a sigh, you take your place at the microphone and set your mind to the task ahead – working together to be a better band. Harry calls out the first song on the set list, and after a moment’s preparation, the five of you begin to play.

You all work through the set list together, progress occasionally growing a little sluggish when it comes to the new songs, as you haven’t yet had time to cement your performance properly as a unit with the most recently written ones. As your time in the venue comes to a close, you collectively realise that you’ll have to leave the last few songs for next time.

“Let’s forget the old ones for now,” Harry suggests as everyone begins to pack their things away. “Just focus on perfecting the new ones next time.” Everyone agrees, and since you only have a microphone to move, you go to help the nearest person with their equipment, which happens to be Tom.

“What do you think of the new set list now?” you ask, genuinely concerned that he might be feeling uncomfortable with it, particularly due to his song not being included. “Does it seem better now that we’ve played most of it?”

“Yeah,” he muses, seeming honest, “it should be good. It’ll be better when we can just play it through altogether in one go – then we can get a proper feel for it.” You nod encouragingly, and as he lifts his bass amp off the stage and onto the floor, grunting at its weight, you jump down to help him take it out to Charlie’s van. Nothing else is said for a few moments as you both focus on moving the amp without bumping into anything, but once you exit out into the cool air and reach the van, you feel as though you should say something; you’ve been feeling genuinely awful about refusing his song, and though you aren’t sure whether he actually knows that you don’t like it or not, its exclusion from the set list must be making him feel like a bit of a failure, and you’d really like to assure him that he’s not. With nothing to do for a moment other than wait for Charlie to come with the keys to open the van, you take the opportunity.

“By the way, Tom,” you start tentatively, “I’m sorry your song isn’t on the set list.” His shoulder sag a little in response, his gaze averting.

“It’s alright,” he replies, “it probably wasn’t that good, anyway.”

“No, it’s not that,” you insist, wanting to console him, “I think it’s more a case of it being a different style to our usual stuff. It sort of sticks out, if you know what I mean. It’s not a bad song at all, just maybe not right for us.” Giving him your honest opinion, you hope it doesn’t offend him more, but he nods, seeming to understand what you’re saying.

“Fair enough, I see what you mean,” he says, though still looking a little awkward, and you’re getting the feeling that there is something else to it.

“Did Harry say anything about it?” you ask, trying to seem casual, and Tom grimaces slightly at the mention of Harry’s name.

“Well… he actually said that you hated it.” Closing your eyes in frustration for a second, you realise that this must have been something Harry had done after the argument you’d had in college, probably in childish retaliation to your disagreement. The guilt churns in your stomach as Tom faces away slightly, unable to look at you.

“Tom, I’m really sorry,” you say urgently. “Harry’s been a right idiot recently, saying things behind people’s backs that aren’t true. I ended up having a phone call with Charlie one night, confronting each other about things Harry had said, and it turned out he’d just made it all up.” Tom meets your eyes again, looking perturbed.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you continue, “I don’t know what his problem was, but I think he’s come out of it now, so I just want us all to forget about it, really. That’s why I said all of that in there.” You jerk your head towards the rehearsal rooms. “But honestly, I really don’t hate it, Tom. I don’t think it’s our style, like I said, but I don’t hate it at all. I’m really sorry that Harry made you think that.” Anxiety bubbling unpleasantly in your stomach, you hope that Tom understands the truth in what you said. After a tense moment, he looks up at you again with a vague smile.

“It’s alright,” he repeats, seeming a little more upbeat this time. “I should have known it was Harry being a tosser.” You can’t help but snort at the comment, especially the word ‘tosser’, which seems to be growing in popularity at the moment; indeed, you concede – Harry can be a right tosser sometimes.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t take it up full time,” you say with a smirk, and Tom chuckles, rolling his eyes. Sensing that things are essentially resolved between the two of you, you reach over and squeeze his arm warmly. “So, we’re okay, then?” His smile widens as he nods again, looking more at ease, and then wordlessly moves in to hug you, which you sink into gladly, almost physically feeling the weight lift from your shoulders. As you withdraw, you catch sight of Charlie and Harry approaching, each carrying parts of Charlie’s drum kit.

“Fancy a lift home, then?” Charlie offers to all three of you. “Dave already asked me, so I thought I’d be generous and drop you all off, it you want.” He grins comically as he speaks, and you’re grateful for the offer.

“Sounds good,” you reply, “although I know what that entails.” Looking around at Tom and Harry, the three of you share amused, knowing glances; with only one passenger seat in the van, any extra people have to ride in the back, which is not only potentially illegal, as there are no safety measures back there, but also precarious, as all of the musical equipment is also in there. You can’t count the amount of times you’ve taken a cymbal stand to the face as it’s fallen over while Charlie was driving, and the memories fill you with amusement.

“Charlie, I want to keep my teeth,” Harry jabs jokingly, and the three of you giggle as Charlie unlocks the van, spurring you all back into action as you start to haul the equipment into its open doors.

“Well,” Charlie begins with a smirk, “I like to keep you on your toes, you know.”

“I might not have any toes left!” Tom shoots back quickly, rousing another bout of laughter. Dave then joins the four of you, and the equipment is slowly but surely loaded into the van as securely as it can be.

“Right,” Charlie says, looking between you all, “who’s having the passenger seat?” Before you can even open your mouth in an attempt to claim it, both Harry and Dave lunge forwards, trying to muscle the other out of the way. You watch the playful scuffle until Dave just about gains the upper hand, throwing himself onto the seat with a victorious grin. Harry sighs heavily in response.

“Right, I suppose it’s the back for us, then,” he says in a resigned tone, though grinning at the same time, and shaking your heads, the last of you climb hesitantly into the back of the van, stepping carefully around the various pieces of equipment to find a suitable place to sit. Looking up at the familiar interior, you find yourself smiling; Charlie’s van is pretty old, inherited from his engineer father once he’d passed his driving test, and you can tell that it was originally used to carry his dad’s tools, as it had seemed rather dishevelled and banged-up when Charlie had gotten it. In fact, it had been the embarrassment of a lifetime at first for Charlie, and rather than appreciating the gift his father had given him, he’d hated rumbling around in it, making a great roar everywhere he went and getting a lot of stick for it from his friends. It was only once he’d taken up the drums and started joining bands that it had suddenly become a blessing, fellow musicians clamouring to get in with Charlie and his massive van that could carry you and your heavy equipment anywhere. You’ve certainly seen it as a blessing during the last year that this band has been together, and with no sign of giving up any time soon, you’re grateful for the old bucket of rust.

“Right, hold onto your garters,” Charlie yells from the driver’s seat, “I’m setting off!” The van comes to life with a loud growl, and you, Harry and Tom brace yourselves against the walls as it begins to move. It’s relatively comfortable at first, as you’re used to doing this sort of thing, but after driving a little way, Charlie brakes a tad too sharply, sending the three of you rolling onto your sides, despite your efforts to stay upright.

“What’re you doing?” Harry shouts, amusement in his voice, flinching as something out of your eye-line falls over with a clang.

“Sorry,” Charlie calls back, “traffic light changed on me!”

“I’ll change on you in a minute,” Harry retorts, clearly joking, and you hear Dave and Charlie’s muffled chortling from the front of the van. Just as you right yourself, regaining your posture, the van sets off again, and the three of you instinctively wail in surprise as Charlie takes a corner a bit too fast on purpose, hoping to make you all fall over once more, and it works; gravity pulling you all to the right, you slide across the floor, scrambling to move away from the pile of equipment that is beginning to rumble and clatter, random things teetering and toppling with the force.

“Ah!”

“Stop it!”

“Don’t break my amp!”

“I don’t want to die!”

Charlie and Dave start guffawing heartily at your outbursts, loud even in the back of the van, where the three of you are now crawling pathetically, giggling at your own peril as Charlie slows down to let you recover. During the landslide, you’d grabbed at Harry’s sleeve to try and steady yourself, and he’d taken hold of your wrist in return, clenching tightly as the van had swerved. Looking at each other through your grins, you let go of him, and he pats your arm for a moment before looking away. It’s only a small gesture, but considering how things have been lately, it really touches you; Harry has always been hot-headed, just as you have, but as you’ve contemplated before, you’ve never really been on the receiving end of his wrath in the past. The two of you have had disagreements, of course, and sibling rivalry is certainly a thing that exists between you, but at the same time, you’ve always managed to stay on the same side of things. This recent situation has felt awful, watching Harry place himself opposite to you in everything and firing accusations and insults left, right and centre, never mind all the stupid things he’d made up and told everyone to create discord in the group. In all honesty, you’d felt quite alone without his usual tight companionship, helped only by Brian, Roger and Freddie’s invitations to spend time together. Knowing that Harry is starting to soften, going back to how he was before, means a lot to you, and gazing across at him fondly in the back of the grumbling van, you feel yourself smiling at the thought of regaining your best friend.


	15. Tie Your Mother Down, Or You Ain't No Friend Of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reconciling with Harry and your other bandmates recently, the five of you have finally landed another gig, but considering that your mother is adamant that you drop the band in favour of studying, you and Harry have to resort to cunning methods to keep the show afloat, while convincing her that all is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Queenies! Just dropping a line to say thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'm now moved into my new place, so the delay is over! Enjoy ^_^

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Harry’s voice reverberates slightly in the stairwell, a hint of exasperation cutting through it.

“I hope it’s soon,” you reply impatiently. “We really need this.” Earlier that week, the pair of you had started making a concerted effort to get your band some gigs, having grown both excited at the prospect of playing your newly decided set list, and frustrated at not having a platform upon which to do it yet. To your disgruntlement, most of the venue owners and event organizers you’d spoken to had turned you down flatly on the spot, though in all honesty, you hadn’t been incredibly shocked by such rejection, having received it many times before, and used to enduring it as part and parcel of being a small group in a big music scene. However, just one of them, the owner of a small club that you don’t often frequent, had mused to you about a band that he’d already booked whose support act had just dropped out, and you’d made your enthusiasm for the role abundantly clear as he’d talked about their current search for a replacement. In the end, he’d asked for your phone number and promised to call today to let you know if your band has been chosen to take the slot or not, and the days between then and now have positively dragged, both you and Harry dying to get an affirmative answer from him. Now sitting on the stairs together, having become locked in conversation about the situation, you’re almost waiting for the phone to ring, like a pair of children staying up to try to catch a glimpse of Father Christmas.

“I know,” Harry says, his voice softening again, “it’s a real drag being so little-known. I bet Queen don’t have this many problems getting gigs.”

“Well,” you start, a grin spreading across your face, “you certainly didn’t have any problems using Queen’s name to ham us up to everyone.” Meeting your eye, Harry sniggers, his shoulders shaking slightly, and you can’t help but join in. During your conversations with potential employers, Harry had made a point of throwing Queen in all over the place, exaggerating how brilliantly you’d supported them once and how they’re great friends of yours. At times, it had gotten so over the top, you’d had to stifle laughter in order to maintain a professional air.

“It worked with this guy, didn’t it?” he shoots back, shrugging and wiggling his eyebrows, which only makes you laugh more.

“Maybe it did,” you concede, playing into his hands. “We might want to try to build a reputation for being good ourselves, though, not just being Queen groupies.” Your sarcastic comment causes Harry to bark in amusement.

“That’s just you, sis,” he replies, shooting you a suggestive look, and knowing all too well that he’s referring to you and Brian, you giggle while shaking your head in defeat. As the laughter dies down and quiet envelops the house once more, you find yourself thinking more seriously again, contemplating what may happen if you miss out on this show – the last thing you want is for your bandmates’ spirits to plummet again after you’d worked hard to bring them back up.

“I really hope we get this, Harry,” you say, unable to keep from voicing your concerns. “We can’t be stuck here with no way to show ourselves off. That’d just be rubbish.” Eyeing the discouraged expression Harry gains after hearing this, you feel a little bad for souring the mood.

“Yeah,” he emits, his voice lower than before, “I don’t know how to really…” You glance up at him as he trails off, sensing a barrage of thoughts running through his mind, made evident by his creased brow. It’s not like Harry to be speechless, and it makes you a bit uncomfortable.

“I know I said not to talk about Queen,” you say in a half-comedic manner, in an attempt to lighten things, “but maybe they can actually help us. They’ve had more experience than us. They probably-“ At that moment, you’re cut off by the shrill ringing of the phone, and the pair of you shoot upright in your seats, partially in alarm, and partially in excitement – this is probably the call you’ve been waiting for. As you both spring up from the stairs, darting towards the phone, you feel anticipation begin to fizz tangibly in your stomach as Harry grabs the receiver, having beaten you to it.

“Hello? Yes, speaking.” You find yourself simply staring at Harry as the conversation unfolds, unable to hear the person on the other end of the line, but attempting to discern the details from Harry’s face nevertheless. He contemplates the wall as he listens, and you look up at him hopefully, praying for the news to be good.

“Ah, okay. Yes – that makes sense, I understand that. Hmm…”

As Harry’s scattered replies continue, you feel yourself growing tense, as you can’t tell where the conversation is going. However, you’re about to be put out of your misery, much to your delight.

“Oh, really?” Harry whips around to face you with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. “That’s wonderful - thanks so much!” You feel your face practically explode into a giant grin as he gives you a thumbs-up, looking victorious – thank goodness for that! “Absolutely, we’ll be there, and we’ll give you a damn good show! Alright, see you then, goodbye.” Slamming the receiver back down with vim, Harry pumps his fists in the air as he turns to you properly. “We’d better get practising, girl,” he announces jovially, “’cause we’re officially on the bill!”

“Yes!” you shout with relish, raising your hands, and he meets you in a double high-five, your palms buzzing with the impact of the slap. Finally, another opportunity to show people how good you can be.

“Although,” he says more calmly, stifling your celebration somewhat, “we’d better make sure nothing gets in the way of this.” His face becomes serious, something evidently having just occurred to him.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Mum did that whole speech about not doing the band so we could study, didn’t she?” The conversation causes you to roll your eyes as you recall it. “We can’t let her find out that we’re doing this. She’ll probably have a fit.”

“So, what you’re saying is-” you begin, feeling a rush of mischief welling up inside you, “-we’ve got to hide it from her at all costs?” Harry raises his head to meet your eyes, and with each second that passes, your sly grins become larger as the pair of you start to cackle with devious laughter; it looks as though that’s the only way you’re going to be able to get away with playing a gig so soon after you’d just promised your mother that you’d be diligent students and ditch your extra-curricular activities, and giggling as Harry’s tenacious expression matches yours, you can tell that the both of you are more than ready to break a few rules and rise to the challenge. Considering that the band is going to need to practise as much as possible before the show, it seems as though you’ve got some serious lying to do about where you’re going, and what you’ll be up to.

“Right, Harry,” you say, excited, focused, and already running possibilities through your mind, “I’ve got some ideas.”

__

The first few days since you’d secured the gig have been both eventful and secretive; calling up the practise hall, you’d only managed to reserve one session, as a lot of the days were already fully booked, on top of the fact that several of the boys have been finding it difficult to escape from their daily routines. This lead to your one guaranteed practise being booked slap-bang in the middle of the day, which awkwardly means that you and Harry will have to skip college in order to attend it – it’s not ideal, but it’s something you’re willing to do. However, in a moment of genius, Harry had suggested that during the other times that everyone was free to get together, you should try to make use of having musical friends, asking Brian and Roger if they’d mind you all going over for a semi-acoustic practise, minus the drums and microphones. It had been a great idea, and Brian and Roger had been happy to oblige, though Roger made a somewhat comedic fuss over the fact that you’d told your mother that you and Harry were going over to study with him. You’d needed a fitting excuse, so the biology ruse had to be put into action – whether it works or not, you’ll find out when you get home.

Currently, the five of you are running through a new song as best you can, crowding around each other in a circle upon the various sofas and chairs, the boys strumming away as usual. You’re doing your best to sing over the noise, as you have no microphone in this situation, but it’s not terribly difficult to make yourself heard. Charlie, on the other hand, is the most compromised, air-drumming with his sticks along with everyone, as it’s all he can do. He’s still been playing his part, though, clicking his sticks together to keep you all on track at moments when his time-keeping is crucial. As you finish the song, you look over to him, feeling a little bad.

“Sorry about this, Charlie, it’s not good for you, is it?” A few short laughs emerge from the other boys as they acknowledge his awkward situation.

“Ah, it’s alright,” he replies, waving a hand dismissively, “I practise every night in the shed. I know what I’m doing.” His reassuring grin makes you feel a little better.

“Is there really no room in that shed for at least two more of us?” Dave asks. “Even just some of the band together is better than being by yourself.” Charlie shakes his head with a regretful grimace.

“No, sorry, it barely fits the drums in there. The window rattles when I hit me cymbals!” Chortling ensues at the image of it, intensified when Tom asks if he’d consider building an extension. “Yeah, if you want to pay for it!” After the laughter dies down, Roger pipes up from across the room, where he and Brian are sitting; Roger’s full attention is on your practising, and while Brian is attempting to read a book, his interest in the music seems to keep pulling him away from it.

“Sounding good, though,” Roger says with a smile, and Brian nods from behind him.

“You’re all certainly dedicated if you’re going to these lengths to stay in good practise,” he adds, and you can’t help but smile across at him, happy for the both of them to be witnessing your band in full force again, rather than arguing or awkwardly avoiding each other - things are becoming much better than they were before. Gazing fondly at your bandmates, you only get to enjoy a small moment of affection before Dave’s voice cuts through your reverie.

“Right, what’s next?” Everyone looks down at the set list placed upon the table between you all, readying themselves for the next song. After a moment’s fumbling, you all meet eyes, nodding simultaneously, and Charlie clicks his sticks to count you in again. Roger starts to bop his head lightly as the song starts, which makes you smile, resolving to really give it your all on the night of the show in the hopes of impressing the Queen members more than you already have done. The first verse approaches, and you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of the first line. However, before you can get more than a few words out, you’re all distracted by the unwelcome and sudden sound of the phone ringing. You, Tom and Charlie grind to a halt straight away, while Harry and Dave continue to play haltingly, unsure of whether you’re fully stopping or not.

“That could be our mum,” you call across to Roger and Brian, who are sitting closest to the phone. “We might want to answer it.” As this is the first time you and Harry have come to ‘study’, it would make sense for her to check up on you to make sure that you’re not slacking off. Roger, looking slightly worried, stands up and makes his way awkwardly over to the phone, while you turn back to shush Harry and Dave, who obediently stop playing.

“What shall I say?” Roger half-whispers, almost as if your mother might hear him, even though he hasn’t picked up the phone yet.

“I don’t know,” you hiss back, “just make something up!” Looking half worried and half amused, he answers the call.

“Hello? Oh, hello there – yes, they’re both here.” As he looks across at you and Harry, it becomes obvious that it is, indeed, your mother on the phone. Grins of amusement spread across everyone’s faces as they all stay quiet, not wanting to give away what’s really going on. “Say hello, you two,” he instructs, holding up the receiver in your direction, and both you and Harry shout brief greetings across the room at the phone. As Roger goes back to the conversation, Harry meets your eyes with a mischievous glance, and you return it.

“Yeah, it’s going alright,” Roger continues, clearly doing his best to answer your mother’s probing questions. “They’re doing pretty well. I think they’ll do fine in the exams, if we have a few more sessions.” As he says this, he turns to you and gives an over-exaggerated wink, and you have to stifle a giggle. His face then seems to turn a bit panicked, and he looks between everyone worriedly as he speaks. “Ah, well, yeah, all sorts really. We were just reading about, erm…” He glances around the room, trying to come up with some biology terminology as subject matter, but evidently having trouble with it. You’re just about to mouth something for him to say, but he beats you to it, and you sort of wish he hadn’t. “…electrons, and things like that.” Without missing a beat, and quite boldly, considering his usual reserved nature, Brian pipes up, quiet enough to be out of earshot of the phone, but loud enough for the rest of you to hear.

“That’s physics, you idiot.” Roger seems to freeze in place at his remark, realising his mistake, and instantly begins struggling to keep his composure, trying not to laugh at his own failure. This causes the entire room to start having a hushed breakdown as you all desperately try to rein in your laughter, scoffing quietly into your hands. However, you thank your lucky stars that your mother knows absolutely nothing about biology, or any of the sciences, for that matter, as the conversation seems to move along, apparently satisfied with Roger’s explanation. Roger has to turn completely away from everybody in order to keep a straight face for the remainder of the call, and the rest of you continue to muffle your amusement as hard as you can. Thankfully, it doesn’t last much longer, and the second Roger hangs up the phone, the room explodes with rapturous laughter, as you no longer need to keep quiet.

“That was amazing!” Harry exclaims, one of his eyes watering slightly as he chuckles, and you clutch your aching stomach as Brian looks at Roger disparagingly, though a wide grin still on his face.

“Really? Electrons?”

“I don’t fucking know, do I?” Roger retorts, laughing at his own stupidity. “I told you, I barely passed!” It takes a few minutes for the laughter to properly die down, everyone thoroughly tickled by the exchange. “By the way, you two,” Roger adds more seriously, “she said she wants you home by ten, apparently.” Glancing at the clock, you realise that it gives you about 45 more minutes of practising before you and Harry will have to head home.

“Right then,” you say, pulling everyone back into focus, “we’d better do some more before we have to go. Shall we start that one again?” In the end, you’d had to start it twice – the first time, you’d hilariously altered the lyrics of the first verse to be about how knowledgeable Roger is with electrons.

\--

A few days later, you’re fixing your hair in front of the mirror hurriedly, as Harry pops his head around your bedroom door.

“You ready yet?” he asks urgently in a hushed voice. “I need to get this out there before she sees.”

“Alright, hang on,” you reply, finishing your hair quickly, and not particularly caring that it looks a bit haphazard – you can sort it out when you get to college. “What shall I say?”

“I dunno,” he says with a unbothered shrug, “anything will do. I’ll need a minute, though.” You find yourself rolling your eyes at him before taking a moment to contemplate your plan; today is the day of your band’s awkwardly timed proper rehearsal, which both you and Harry are going to have to sneak out of college early for. The pair of you have already established that considering the circumstances, especially due to the lack of regular gigs you have, you’re more than prepared to be terrible students in order to be as ready for this show as possible, and being honest, it wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened. The only issue is your mother; having promised her that the both of you would dedicate yourselves to studying hard and putting the band aside, Harry can’t exactly march out of the house carrying his guitar, a clear breach of trust. Instead, he’d asked you to cover for him and cause a distraction by talking to her about something while he sneaks out of the house with his guitar, unseen. You’re not entirely sure how well this is going to go, but as you’re the only one without a rather bulky secret to smuggle out of the door, you’ve got to try regardless. After casting around for a moment, an idea hits you; swiping your nail scissors from your dresser, you start to pick at the threads holding one of your buttons onto your skirt. After a moment’s fumbling, they relinquish their grasp, and you put the scissors back, picking up your bag and turning to Harry.

“Get it ready,” you instruct, “I’ll try to keep her in the kitchen.” He nods dutifully, striding with speed into the hallway towards his room, and you put on the most realistic act you can muster as you trot downstairs. “Mum,” you call, sounding annoyed, “my button just fell off my skirt! Can you stitch it back on?” You’d made sure to enter the kitchen as you’d spoken, so that she didn’t come out to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” she replies, nodding as she regards the button in your outstretched hand, examining the now loose threads sticking out of your skirt. “Just leave it here, and I’ll do it at some point today.” She wraps up the conversation relatively quickly, and glancing momentarily towards the living room, you know for a fact that it’s definitely not been long enough for Harry to make his escape, solidified by the fact that you haven’t heard him come down the creaky staircase yet.

“But I really want to wear this today,” you insist, feigning a whiny slump with your posture. “Can’t you put it back on now?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” your mother sighs, rolling her eyes. “You young people are so impatient these days – and you still don’t know how to sew, either!” She throws her arms up in exasperation, and you have to mask a chuckle. “Alright,” she concedes, looking bewildered, “I’ll do it now.” Feeling a small sense of victory, you watch as she crosses the kitchen to fetch her sewing kit from the living room. For a moment, your breath hitches in worry as you hope to God that Harry hasn’t started descending the stairs yet, but thankfully, he seems to have been smart enough to read the situation from the floor above; he doesn’t appear, and your mother returns to the kitchen with the sewing kit, having selected the most appropriate colour of thread that she has.

“Right,” she says in a business-like tone, kneeling down in front of you, “keep still, or I’ll sew the damn thing to your tights.” Giggling briefly as she begins to reattach the button, you barely have time to wonder if Harry will seize the opportunity before you hear him making his way down the stairs. You make sure not to look in his direction so as not to alert your mother to his movements.

“By the way,” you continue, wanting to try to drown out the sound of Harry opening the front door, “we really enjoyed studying with Roger the other day.”

“Did you?” she responds absent-mindedly as she sews. “I hope you both benefited from it.”

“Oh yeah,” you enthuse, trying not to make your amusement at the memory obvious, “it’s really useful that he’s already taken biology tests that are different from our old ones. He knows different questions that might come up.” Thankfully, you don’t have to maintain the charade any longer, as Harry walks into the kitchen behind you, nothing but his college bag in his hands, sporting his usual lopsided grin.

“Are you two finished, or what? We’ll be late for college!” You take his nonchalant expression to mean that his mission has been accomplished.

“Just a second,” you mother muses, tightening the thread one last time. “Right, that’s done. Next time you lose a button, please pick something else to wear.” Both you and Harry chuckle, and you hoist your bag back onto your shoulder.

“Thanks mum, we’ll see you later.”

“Will you be studying with Roger tonight?” she calls after you as the pair of you start to exit the house.

“No,” Harry shouts in reply, “we’ll just come home and work on what we’ve done in class.” He meets your eyes as he says this, and the pair of you muffle your sniggers, knowing full well that you’re barely going to attend any classes at all today. You’re aware that he’d said it to appease your mother, and it seems to have worked, as she simply says goodbye to you both with a satisfied expression. You make your way out of the door, Harry shutting it behind you, and then watch as he darts across the path, reaching into the small group of bushes lining the street. Amused, you make your way towards him, laughing heartily as he pulls his guitar case out from practically inside a bush. “What?” he asks, grinning. “There’s not exactly anywhere else to hide it!” Casting a furtive glance back towards the door to make sure that your mother isn’t looking, he hoists the instrument upwards and steps off the pavement, crossing the road quickly. “Come on,” he urges, “let’s get out of here!” Still giggling, you follow suit, jogging slightly to catch up to him before falling into step at his side.

As the pair of you make your way towards the bus stop with speed, eager to leave your ever-watchful mother behind, you start to feel a sense of giddiness; after all that terrible business with Harry and the band, things have become much better recently, the relationship between you and Harry essentially back to normal, and it’s wonderful to be able to relax and know that your brother has your back again, just as you have his. The fact that the two of you are sneaking around behind your mother’s back, up to your usual sibling shenanigans, makes you feel happy in a way that you can’t quite describe – having an amazing, understanding and doting boyfriend like Brian is very special, but having a brother as intense, loyal and tenacious as Harry is a different kind of special. Pattering alongside him as he shoots you the mischievous smirk you know so well, you find yourself feeling lucky to have both of them.

__

“Come on,” Dave exclaims, beckoning you and Harry over towards the backstage room. “It’s almost time!” The pair of you nod apologetically, Harry turning to Roger with a smirk.

“Well, we’d better go,” he says, his excitement tangible in his eyes.

“Go on,” Roger replies, patting his shoulder, “get going!” As Harry strides across the room to join your bandmates backstage, you shoot appreciative looks at the Queen boys – it was good of them to come out in force to watch your band’s gig, and hanging right on the precipice of it, due to go on in a few minutes, you feel your stomach fizzing with anticipation at the thought of it all. Performing to anyone at all is a wonderful thing, but seeing some of your best friends, plus your boyfriend, in the crowd, is even more wonderful.

“Knock ‘em dead, darling!” Freddie encourages loudly, swatting you on the arm enthusiastically.

“I will!” Turning to Brian, you drink in the look of affection on his face as he gazes at you, feeling further bolstered by his support. “You going to watch me, then?” The smile on his face grows along with yours as he puts his arms around your waist, drawing you closer.

“All night,” he replies quietly, and you can’t help but giggle.

“And then later,” you add cheekily, “if I do really well, are you going to show me how much you love me?” The way he looks at you, softly yet with a glint of something deeper, reveals how much he genuinely enjoys your flirting.

“All night,” he repeats, and it causes you to swoon for a moment, burying your head in his chest as he chuckles, holding you tight for a moment longer. “Right, missus, you’d better get over there,” he instructs, loosening his grip reluctantly, and as much as you’d love to stay and whisper sweet nothings with him, you know that he’s right – it’s time to play the show you’ve been breaking the rules all week for.

“Alright. Cheer for me!” You lean up towards him, and he doesn’t disappoint, kissing you gently through a smile. Tearing yourself away, you dash quickly towards the backstage room to meet your bandmates, who are congregated in something of a circle, stretching and getting themselves ready to play.

“About time!” Charlie jokes at your arrival, and you share the group’s collective grin as you join them.

“I had to get my good luck charm off Brian,” you reply, replicating your swooning in an over-exaggerated manner, and the boys giggle.

“I bet he’ll give you an even bigger one later,” Dave jabs, and the room erupts in laughter as you shrug in mock innocence.

“I’ve simply no idea what you’re talking about, Dave!” As the commotion dies down, the five of you fall into the unplanned yet instinctive hush that always seems to envelop you just before a gig’s about to start; regardless of what’s going on, it’s almost as though a dog whistle is blown, and on cue, all of you simultaneously begin to focus on the task ahead, growing calm and serious, if only for a moment, to seize your courage and enthusiasm. It’s something that’s always happened since the band had begun getting gigs, and though none of the boys ever reference it, it’s a moment that you love more than almost anything else. As the five of you continue to focus, lost in your own thoughts, yet silently connected, you take a second to feel truly grateful for the kinship.

“Right,” Harry emits quietly, breaking the silence gently. “Shall we do this?” You look around at each of their faces, watching as they all break into excited grins.

“Yeah! Let’s do it!” Dave shouts, and the group share high-fives and shoulder slaps, the energy between you now suddenly buzzing in contrast to the stillness mere moments ago. After a minute or two, you’re given the nod by the sound engineer, and your insides jump with joy at what lies ahead of you; after struggling for weeks and feeling as though things might never pick up, you finally get to enjoy what you’ve been praying for – thirty minutes under the spotlight, where you and your band can showcase exactly what you can do, giving it your all to a room where for tonight, all eyes are on you. It’s one of the best feelings in the world, and you begin to feel your pulse quicken, positively champing at the bit to get out there.

Thankfully, the time has come; your band is announced, and the five of you stride onto the stage with energetic grins, waving to the audience before taking your places. Wanting to capture the room’s attention straight away, you waste no time in addressing the spectators.

“I think you lot are ready for a show,” you cajole, hands on your hips, and a faint cheer rises in response. They may be quiet now, but hopefully, your music will bring them out of their shells and onto your side. Looking over your left shoulder, your gaze lands on Harry, his familiar goofy smile and eagerness to play a source of comfort and motivation. He passes the gaze to Charlie, and after ensuring that everyone is ready, he counts the band in. The sheer force of the noise is delightfully deafening, the bass vibrating and the cymbals slicing through the air, reaching the very back of the room. As you’d hoped, the audience seem interested, and those who had been locked in conversation a moment ago have stopped talking to turn their attention towards the sound. Scanning the room in satisfaction, you catch sight of Queen in the distance, spotting Brian first due to his height, a few inches taller than the other boys, not to mention his plentiful curls. It gives you an extra burst of courage, and wanting to put on the best show you can for them as well as the crowd, you seize your microphone and pluck it from its stand with gusto, looking back at your band with vigour just before your vocals begin.

You sing with everything you have, concentrating seriously on getting this new song right, yet at the same time, throwing your inhibitions to the wind and enjoying every moment. As the song progresses, you watch the crowd begin to pay more attention, some of them moving closer to the stage to get a better look at you, and other clusters of people starting to nod along to the beat. It’s what you’d hoped for, and by the end of your set, if things go your way, the whole room will be doing the same. The song comes to a close, and as the final chord comes crashing in, you raise your microphone up in the air in victory, eyeing your bandmates excitedly from the adrenaline. The audience gives a good cheer in response, clapping and looking as though their interest has been piqued. Before they get a chance to become distracted or lose their enthusiasm, you kick into the next song with a quick introduction, keeping them on their toes.

The energy of the show continues to grow steadily as you progress through your set list, the five of you enjoying every minute of it. Thanks to your collective dedication to practise, the new songs are coming out without any real problems, only the occasional minor hiccup that’s barely noticeable in the odd place. Overall, you couldn’t be happier with how united the band is, and it almost makes you laugh at the fact that almost all of you were at odds with each other mere weeks ago – no one would guess that any of that had happened now. As you knock out song after song with vim and flair, having a great time, the five of you share grins and fond glances, perfectly together as a unit. It’s moments like this that make you both incredibly glad to be doing this, and secretly scared that it will end too soon, if things go south, and the band never gets any further than this. It’s something you have to push out of your mind in favour of simply relishing the present moment, and right now, your band is exactly where it should be.

As you announce the final song of your set, you see a hint of disappointment on a few people’s faces, which warms your heart; you’re only the support act, but people who have paid to see someone else still want more from you – that’s a hugely encouraging sign. Draining every last drop of enjoyment from this experience, you savour every moment of the last song as you sing, dancing around the stage and regarding the audience with a genuine smile. Towards the end of the song, there’s a section where the band encourages the crowd to clap along, and to your giddy joy, the Queen boys are the first to join in, raising their hands above their heads as they clap, Roger jumping like an idiot as he does so. Their enthusiasm spreads throughout the crowd until almost the entire room is clapping, and it fills you with so much happiness that you can barely sing. All too soon, the show comes to an end, and as Charlie bashes his cymbals in a big final swell, you thank everyone for watching, your breath a little ragged from dancing. The five of you exit the stage to a considerable noise from the room, satisfied that you did the best job that you could.

The backstage room is incredibly quiet in comparison to the throng of the main venue, emphasising how loud it really was out there, and you hear the trademark post-gig ringing in your ears setting in. However, the near-silence is broken almost immediately by your excitable bandmates.

“That’s how it all pays off,” Harry says, looking sweaty, dishevelled and pleased. “That’s exactly how we should be playing. Did you see them all clapping on the last one?” Everyone breaks into exhausted grins in response, nodding.

“I messed up that little bit in the middle section, though,” Tom says apologetically, but Harry shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter, you recovered really quickly, and everyone was having such a good time, it wasn’t obvious anyway.”

“No, I didn’t even notice,” Dave chimes in. “That was easily the best show we’ve ever done.” The five of you take a moment to catch your breaths properly, cooling down from the heat of the lights and mentally returning to Earth after such a high-energy experience. As the boys begin to chat, changing their clothes and putting away their instruments, you find yourself walking over to Harry, not entirely sure of what you want to say; you’re reminded that the reason Harry had been acting terribly not long ago, justified or not, was that he’d wanted the band to be taken seriously, for everyone to work hard to achieve things like this and further the band’s reputation. Hoping that he’s satisfied, you approach him quietly as he’s snapping the buckles of his guitar case shut. He greets you with his usual carefree expression, hints of adrenaline still shining through.

“Happy?” As you ask this, he straightens up to his full height, turning to face you fully before closing the gap between you with a smile, drawing you into a hug.

“What do you think, sis?” he replies, the contentment evident in his voice, and you sink into him with relief, ignoring the discomfort of his elevated body heat that mingles with your own, glad to have had this experience with him. After getting yourselves ready, you all make your way back into the main room to reunite with Queen, who greet you with lots of praise.

“You’ve definitely got better since last time we saw you,” John says honestly, and you squeeze his shoulder in appreciation.

“I second that,” Freddie chips in, his eyes smiling as much as his face is. “You certainly put a lot of effort into what you do.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply, looking at all of them, and they chuckle, Freddie batting your arm playfully.

“How about some drinks?” Roger asks, and judging by the boys’ reaction, it’s as though he’d asked if anyone would like a million pound recording contract.

“Yes, I really need one!” Dave yells over-enthusiastically, and laughing, everybody begins to move towards the bar as one. Brian, however, parts from the group to come towards you instead, reaching for your hands with a loving smile on his face. Touched, you move to meet him, his long fingers enveloping yours warmly.

“You did really well,” he says softly, his eyes resting on your mouth, betraying his unspoken thoughts. You tilt your head up towards him, and again, he kisses you gently, though this time, it’s a little more firm. “I really like watching you perform.”

“Snap,” you reply, and he hums a delicate laugh as his smile widens.

“I’m glad we don’t have to say goodbye tonight,” he continues, and you nod in fervent agreement; maintaining the ruse for your mother in order to cover for your illicit activities, you and Harry had said that since it was a weekend, you’d decided to stay at Sinclair Road overnight in order to study for longer with Roger. At first, she’d been hesitant to agree, but after you’d fed her some terrible exaggeration about how beneficial it would be, as well as baffling her with some biology jargon – genuine, this time – she’d reluctantly allowed it.

“Me too,” you reply. “I can’t be going home past midnight, half deaf. She’d know what’s happened instantly.” The pair of you share a devious giggle at your continued defying of your mother’s wishes, before Brian grows more serious again, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

“Besides,” he adds quietly, “I love it when we can be alone together.” His forwardness makes you blush hard, even if he hadn’t meant it in an entirely suggestive way – he’s not often bold when it comes to anything, so the times he says what’s on his mind without reservation are powerful to you. He seems a little bashful after his comment, but sinks into your embrace as you tighten it around him.

“Let’s go to bed when we get back,” you reply shyly, still swooning somewhat, and you feel him nod, the soft tendrils of his dark hair brushing your face.

As it happens, that’s exactly what you’d done; after collecting your payment for the night, enjoying drinks and banter with Queen and your band, and watching the group you’d supported, you’d said your goodbyes to everyone except Brian, Roger and Harry, the four of you heading back to Sinclair Road. Roger had supplied Harry with spare blankets and a pillow for his makeshift bed on one of the sofas, and both you and Brian had slipped out of the room without a second glance, not particularly caring what Roger and Harry might think. Closing the door to his bedroom, you revel in the knowledge that until the morning, every moment of your time will be spent next to Brian.

You cross the room, placing your bag in the corner next to his chest of drawers, and turn to him. He simply regards you with a fond expression for a moment, before striding towards you, taking a seat on the bed and encouraging you to follow suit. You barely have time to sit down before his mouth is upon yours, firm with conviction, as though he’s been waiting to kiss you properly without prying eyes all evening. Melting into him, you feel yourself turn to jelly at his touch, loving how every kiss makes it feel as though he truly adores you. The pair of you kiss until you’re laying back on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, locked in an embrace that you never want to leave.

“All night, you said,” you murmur after the kissing breaks off, and he smiles lovingly, the points of his teeth peeping out from beneath his lips.

“I did,” he replies with a laugh, nuzzling into your collarbone and kissing you there. “We have all night together.” Gazing up into his gorgeous hazel eyes, you find yourself wishing you could just stay with him forever.

“Brian,” you whisper, reaching up to trace his cheekbone with your hand, losing yourself to the way he makes you feel. “I’m really happy. You make me so happy.”


	16. Gonna Take On The World Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're just enjoying a relaxing afternoon with Brian and Roger at Sinclair Road when Freddie shows up unannounced with some very interesting news. You're kicked out prematurely so that the Queen boys can take care of business, but rather than feeling offended, you're excited to see what comes next. Little do you realise that it involves someone arriving at your house uninvited.

There’s nothing quite like a Saturday afternoon that’s completely free of restrictions – you can do whatever you please. As it happens, the watchful eye of your mother is currently closed to your shenanigans, as rather unexpectedly, she’d announced that she was going out with a friend she hadn’t seen for a while to catch up, leaving the house unattended for quite some time. You’d immediately jumped on the opportunity to ditch your studies for a secret, ‘extra-curricular’ excursion to Sinclair Road, leaving Harry to his own devices back at home with the promise of keeping your mischief hidden. Though it’s been in the back of your mind since you’d arrived that you’d better make sure you arrive back home before your mother does, you’ve been thoroughly enjoying your afternoon with Brian and Roger, listening to records, sharing funny stories, and of course, enthusing endlessly about music.

“Fancy a tea, or coffee?” Roger asks the pair of you as he stands up from his chair. “Or something stronger?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows, and you giggle.

“Surprise me, Roger!” you reply with a grin, and Brian stands up to join him, though Roger dismisses him with a wave of his arms.

“No, no, it’s alright, I’ll get these. What are you having?”

“Tea, please,” Brian replies, smiling and reclaiming his seat next to you. As Roger crosses the room towards the kitchen, you lean into Brian as he wraps his arm back around your shoulders, enjoying his warm familiarity, and the pair of you share a fond gaze before giving in to kisses. However, the moment is interrupted by a sudden noise – a clop and a shuffle, quickly followed by Roger’s pained exclamation.

“Ah, Brian!” he blurts highly, and as the two of you break away from each other to look in his direction, you manage to catch the tail end of what seems to be Roger stumbling to regain his balance. “I tripped over your bloody clogs again! Stop leaving them everywhere, will you?” Glancing back at Brian, you watch his expression turn sheepish, and he nods knowingly.

“Sorry!” he calls, and Roger picks up the offending shoes and throws them lightly into the corner of the kitchen, where they land with a resounding clap. Judging by both of the boys’ reactions, this seems to be a recurring scenario. You can’t help but giggle, and Brian looks at you as you do, exhaling his own amusement. “Yeah, I suppose I have a habit of taking my shoes off a lot,” he explains, still a little bashful. “I don’t mean to leave them in the way, but evidently, I do!”

“You do!” Roger retorts from the kitchen, supporting the theory. “You take your shoes off all the time, even in the studio! Why do you wear those ghastly things anyway, if they’re so annoying?” You cast your gaze across to the battered, off-white clogs in question once more, reminded of the fact that Brian’s clogs were one of the first things you’d noticed about him when you’d had your first proper conversation - you had laughed internally at such a fashion choice.

“They’re not annoying,” Brian says defensively. “I’m just a bit – I dunno. I have claustrophobic feet, I guess. I like clogs because they’re easy to take off.” Something about the admission is incredibly uncool, and Roger immediately barks a laugh as he continues to make your drinks, Brian looking deflated in response. Though it’s funny, there’s also something adorable about it; the more you get to know Brian, the more it appears as though he doesn’t really think like most people around your age, preferring more old fashioned things, and now that you’re contemplating it, the whole clogs thing seems to fit him perfectly.

“I like the clogs,” you murmur to him softly, drawing him closer, and he seems to get even more embarrassed, bowing his head and closing his eyes against everybody’s words. Laughing, you kiss him on the cheek, squeezing him with your arms, and it seems to break his awkwardness, as he chuckles, kissing your forehead.

“I’m not a cool person,” he says, blushing slightly. “I don’t really like to follow fashion or anything. I suppose I just like what I like.”

“And that’s what I like about you,” you reply honestly, burying your face into the crook of his neck to be closer to him. “You don’t have to be cool – I just want you to be Brian.” Though he doesn’t say anything in return at first, your words must have done something positive to him, as his arms shift to come around you more properly, his head leaning against yours until you’re breathing in the tantalising scent of his hair.

“I don’t deserve you,” he utters quietly, his fingers stroking your shoulder, and despite his statement, the warmth in his voice reveals a contentment you’re happy to hear. You’re about to refute his silliness when Roger returns, placing cups down onto the table, so you settle for giving him a knowing look as you part.

“So, I got you a double whiskey, yeah?” Roger says to you comically, and you laugh.

“Just what I wanted!” He giggles before placing your actual drink in front of you.

“Nah, I got you a coffee.”

“Thanks, Rog.” The three of you sit around a while longer, chatting and drinking, content to lounge and enjoy each other’s company. However, you’re only halfway through your coffee when something startles you all – a sudden knocking at the door.

“Are we expecting anyone?” Brian asks Roger as he gets up, the closest to the door out of the three of you, and Roger shakes his head, confused.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Brian swings open the door, and the mystery guest is revealed to be none other than Freddie, a black and gold floral jacket draped over his shoulders, and an expression on his face that suggests that he’s about to tell everyone a rather juicy piece of gossip.

“Oh, Fred,” Brian emits, “what are you doing here so suddenly?” Freddie steps into the flat, and the glint in his eyes definitely carries a look of importance.

“I have just had a very important phone call,” he announces, looking between everybody as he strides across the room. “We don’t have time to go into details, but the three of us need to leave.” He gestures between himself, Brian and Roger as he says so, and the other two boys look perplexed.

“What do you mean?” Roger asks. “Where are we going?”

“Let’s just say,” Freddie responds in a somewhat teasing manner, “that Trident want us to go to the studio as soon as possible, and I think it’s definitely something we don’t want to miss out on.” You’re used to Freddie’s dramatics by now, but it still frustrates you somewhat, wanting him to just spill the beans. However, he simply stands with his hands on his hips, glancing between Brian and Roger with a cocked eyebrow, and though you can tell that they want to pry as much as you do, they seem to simply trust Freddie’s word, nodding and getting themselves together.

“What about John?” Brian asks, and Freddie bats the concern away with a wave of his hand.

“I called him – he already knows. The three of us can meet him there.” Not quite sure what to make of this, you gaze between everybody, nonplussed, and Freddie catches your eye. “Sorry darling,” he says genuinely, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I wouldn’t tear Brian away from you, but this is quite important.”

“I can tell,” you reply. “I’m guessing you’re not going to tell me what it is?” A familiar, cheeky look grows upon his face as he gazes sideways at you.

“I’m afraid not yet, my dear. Perhaps later, we can tell you how it went.”

“I’d like to know what it is,” Roger complains, though with a grin on his face, and Freddie smiles impishly in return.

“Oh, you will, very soon!”

“Are we ready?” Brian asks Roger as he buttons up his coat, and Roger nods in agreement. As he and Freddie begin to leave the flat, Brian turns to you, looking very apologetic. “Sorry, my love,” he says regretfully, drawing you closer to him, and you shake your head.”

“It’s alright,” you reply honestly. “Whatever’s going on, Freddie seems really serious about it, so it must be important. You just go and do what you need to do.”

“You came out specially, though,” he replies a little glumly. “We could have had a couple more hours.” Feeling yourself beginning to smile at his longing to spend more time with you, you lean upwards, cupping his face with your hands to pull him into a kiss.

“We’ll have plenty more hours,” you say, and he smiles with a nod, accepting the situation.

“Alright. Let’s get going, then.” The four of you make your way out of the flat and onto the street, the three of them heading towards the bus stop they need, while you pause to say goodbye, your house in the opposite direction.

“Keep me in the loop, will you?” you ask all three of them at once, and they nod enthusiastically. “I really want to know what happens. If something good’s going on with Queen, I demand to be told, okay?” They all chuckle at your insistence, nodding again.

“Don’t worry,” Freddie replies with a grin, “you’ll be the first to know!” Satisfied, you bid them goodbye, kissing Brian once more.

“I’ll give you a ring later,” he says comfortingly, and you nod, glad that you’ll get to hear something. “I’ll make up for today, too,” he adds. “We can go out somewhere soon, if you like.” Beaming at his care for you, you push him gently backwards towards Roger and Freddie.

“Don’t worry about that, just go!” He smiles, showing the adorably pointed teeth you love, and does as you say, walking away to catch up with the other boys, glancing over his shoulder to shoot you a grin that gives you happy butterflies – his smile is something wonderful. Beginning your walk back home, earlier than you’d intended, you have to admit that this turn of events certainly is unusual, but as you’d said to Brian moments ago, it must be important for Freddie to show up like this, insisting that they go to Trident’s studio at once. You’re not sure what could have been said in that phone call, but it must be something good.

It takes you about half an hour to walk back to your house, which, thanks to the slightly warmer weather now, you don’t mind too much, especially as your journey is spent musing over what Queen may be getting up to at the studio. Turning your key in the lock, you let yourself in, still thankful for the heat of the house. As you shed your coat, hanging it up by the door, Harry appears at the top of the stairs, looking surprised.

“Oh, I thought you were Mum,” he blurts, and you giggle slightly. “You’re home early. I thought you were staying with Brian as long as you could?”

“I was,” you begin, filling him in on the details of Freddie’s sudden arrival and their apparent need to go to Trident’s studio. He seems as intrigued as you are, humming quizzically as you finish your explanation.

“Sounds like something big’s going on,” he muses. “Any ideas?” You shake your head.

“To be honest, I thought it might have been something bad at first,” you admit, “but Freddie did seem sort of excited, so I changed my mind.” Having gotten to know the boys much better over the months that you’ve been friends, you can better identify Freddie’s moods and thoughts, despite his elusive nature and tendency to put on airs. He’d been very business-like at the flat, but you had sensed a hint of positive anticipation under the surface of his composure, which leads you to believe that Trident must have offered them a chance to do something new, or something equally exciting. “Brian said he’d ring me later,” you continue, “so he’ll probably tell me what happened.”

“Fair enough,” Harry says, looking thoughtful. “Tell me what he says, will you? This is interesting!” You nod in agreement with a grin, your curiosity evidently contagious. You’re just about to contemplate what to do with the rest of your day when Harry interrupts your thoughts, having been wondering the same thing. “Are you gonna study, then, now that you have some time?” Your shoulders slump immediately at the thought of studying, and you find yourself exhaling a lethargic laugh.

“…no!” Harry grins, evidently as unenthusiastic about college work as you are.

“In that case – practise?” Looking at his hopeful face, you can’t help but give in – the camaraderie between you and your bandmates recently, especially Harry, is still something you cherish strongly after such an awful period of tension, and anything you can do to prolong it is okay with you.

“Sure, why not?”

__

You and Harry had practised in his room, guitars in hand, for quite a while, until you’d felt as though you’d better look studious out of fear of your mother returning home in the middle of a song. It had been a good move, as about twenty minutes after you’d stopped playing, she’d arrived, asking how your days had been. Naturally, much fabrication of revising had occurred, the pair of you battling to keep straight faces again, and after fobbing her off with your stories, you’d returned to your rooms to relax.

It’s just before nine o’clock when the phone finally rings, and you scramble up from your bed and down the stairs to answer it, knowing that it will probably be Brian. Racing to pick up the receiver, you hope you haven’t kept him hanging too long.

“Hello?”

“Hello love, how are you?” His comforting, soft voice soothes you instantly, and you feel your stomach fluttering, mentally laughing at yourself for still being so affected by the sound of his voice.

“I’m alright,” you reply, “how did everything go?”

“Well,” he starts, sounding a little surprised himself as he speaks. “Not what I expected, I can tell you that.”

“What does that mean?” you probe excitedly, and he fills you in.

“Basically, we met this guy, Roy Featherstone, who apparently saw us play a little while ago – you didn’t know us when we played in France, did you?” You find yourself shaking your head at the question, despite the fact that he can’t see it – you certainly would have remembered Queen playing a gig in another country.

“No, definitely not,” you confirm, and he hums in agreement.

“No, it was right at the beginning of the year,” he muses. “I think we met you shortly after. Anyway, we played this little festival, the Midem Festival, I think it was called, and apparently this Roy was there at the show. He works in the music industry. I don’t know why it’s taken so long for him to get in contact, but I believe he talked to his boss about us, and they might be interested in doing something with Queen, although he didn’t make it clear exactly what it would be.” You listen with rapt attention, growing ever more curious as to what this potential opportunity may entail.

“What do you think he has in mind?” you ask, but Brian’s voice is uncertain as he replies.

“I’m not sure, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details. He mainly wanted to watch us perform, and listened to a couple of tracks from the album we’ve recorded.” The mention of the album gives you another shock, as you remember that such a thing exists – Queen must still be going mad, sitting on a whole album with no way of releasing it.

“Do you think he’s interested in releasing something by you?”

“I don’t know,” Brian responds, sounding genuinely clueless. “He didn’t say much, in a way. We talked to him about what we want to achieve as a group, and the experience we’ve had, and then he sort of just told us to leave things with him and left. I’m not sure when we’ll hear back from him, if we hear anything at all.” You nod, knowing that, considering the nature of the music industry, it could well go on to result in nothing.

“Well, it’s a bit vague,” you say, “but something good might come of it, so don’t give up just yet. Do let me know if anything else happens, though, won’t you?” His little chuckle tickles your ear through the phone.

“You know I will,” he replies warmly, and you can’t help but smile. “And you should know that I meant it when I said that I’ll make up for us having to kick you out today,” he adds, causing you to giggle.

“You don’t need to,” you insist, “but I know you were serious. Maybe I’ll take you up on it, if I can steal another moment.” You whisper the last part to ensure that your mother doesn’t hear it, and Brian laughs in acknowledgement of the situation.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” he says, his smile audible in his voice, “just let me know. I’m happy to wait.” Enjoying the comfort of the conversation after having to part ways early today, the two of you chat a little longer, and by the time you reluctantly hang up the phone, your face hurts a little from smiling.

__

(The perspective of the story now shifts to Roger’s view.)

It must be around here somewhere, you muse to yourself as you scan the streets ahead of you. Gloucester Walk? That’s not it. Sighing audibly, you shake your head at the preposterous nature of Freddie’s demands; the two of you had only just finished setting up your stall at Kensington Market and begun business when one of the members of staff had approached you out of nowhere, explaining rather unexpectedly that there’d been a phone call in the office for both of you. The news waiting for you on the other end of the line had been so surprising that both you and Freddie had nearly collapsed, and the idea of flogging your wares had to go straight out of the window – something much bigger than Edwardian scarves is afoot! However, in usual overblown fashion, Freddie had insisted that since your friends have been so supportive of Queen recently, and Harry and his sister especially had asked to know everything after hearing that Trident had wanted to talk to you yesterday, you should go and pick them up at their house, bringing them with you to watch everything unfold. Naturally, Freddie was far too excited to go with you on this excursion, opting to meet the other members and go ahead of you, insisting that the walk to their house was only ten minutes, and very easy to navigate. Having walked for ten minutes now, and not seen Bedford Gardens anywhere, you’re not entirely sure that you agree with him.

Trying to stay optimistic, you crane your neck to read the sign of the next street you’re approaching – Sheffield Terrace. Still not it. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the grey sky above you as you walk; it’s not exactly pleasant weather, but the hurling winds and thick snowfalls that battered you at the beginning of the year seem to have stopped, the clouds turning softer and less foreboding, which can only be a good thing. Just as you’re about to give up your search, you spot what you’re looking for – Bedford Gardens! You’ve arrived. Now to find the right house. Thankfully, this part of the journey doesn’t take too long, as you’d already seen the house number when Brian had written down their address a while ago. Thinking about it, the now infamous first date, at the end of which, Brian had chickened out of kissing her, had followed shortly after he’d learnt her address, and you have to stifle a laugh at his awkwardness. At least it worked out for him in the end. After another moment’s searching, you locate the house you’re looking for, taking in its plain exterior and the bushes lining the front of it, just like every other one on this street.

Striding down the path, you hope for a moment that their mother doesn’t answer the door – the last thing you need is more quizzes about biology! Clearing your throat, you knock on the door, waiting silently for a response, but strangely, one doesn’t arrive. Stepping backwards to gaze through the living room window, you don’t see anybody inside, and a worrisome feeling begins to brew in your stomach – what if nobody’s home? You hadn’t prepared for that! Hoping that that’s not the case, you rap on the door again, more loudly this time, and after a moment, your call is finally answered; the upstairs window creaks open slowly, and to your amusement, the groggy, tousle-haired head of Brian’s girlfriend leans out to look down at you, squinting slightly at the daylight.

“There you are!” you exclaim with a grin, and she appears both pleased and confused to see you.

“Roger, what are you doing here?”

“That’s not a very nice greeting, is it?” you shoot back, toying with her. “I almost got lost trying to find you! I’ve never been this way before – nearly went the wrong way, up Vicarage Gate!” She giggles at this, sweeping her messy hair out of her eyes, and you notice that her voice sounds a little hoarse, as though she hasn’t spoken much today. “Have I just woken you up?” you ask, and she grins guiltily.

“Yes, as it happens. It’s Sunday – I think I’m allowed to sleep in!”

“I can’t argue with that,” you shout up to her, laughing, “but I’m afraid I’ve got to interrupt you this time.”

“Why’s that?” she asks, her brow furrowing slightly. “I did think it was odd, you just showing up out of the blue.”

“Well,” you begin, feeling a small surge of excitement, mixed with nerves, “let’s just say that something’s happened, and I’m under strict instructions by His Majesty, Queen Mercury, by royal decree, to bring you along.” You find yourself smirking in amusement at your own statement, while her brow continues to crease, looking more confused.

“What do you mean? Is this about yesterday?” You nod at her good intuition.

“You’re bang on the money. We’ve had another phone call from Trident about this Roy Featherstone bloke-“ You cut yourself off early as a rather amusing sight unfolds before you; just as she’s standing there, listening intently to your news, she’s suddenly pushed sideways into the window frame by something that you can’t see, and then the culprit appears – Harry leans out of the window, gazing down at you with a surprised but enthusiastic grin.

“Alright, Roger?” he greets loudly. “I wondered what all the yelling was about.”

“Oww,” his sister complains, “that hurt! Get lost, there’s no room!” The two of them then proceed to descend into some classic sibling squabbling, shoving each other and fighting for space at the window, and you find yourself laughing heartily as they quarrel, almost as if you aren’t there. After a few moments, they call a truce, sharing the window awkwardly, and you continue your story.

“So, yeah, I don’t know exactly how much Brian told you on the phone last night, but this guy works with a company that want to look into different types of music.”

“He said that he’d told his boss about you, or something,” she calls in response, “but not much more than that. Has he said he wants to do something?” You nod, feeling your smile growing wider as you try not to get ahead of yourself; things might not be accelerating at the pace you’re imagining, but something positive is definitely about to happen, and part of you wants to yell it from the rooftops.

“You could say that,” you reply, keeping the details to yourself for now, in the hope that it piques their curiosity, and it does.

“Well, what is it, then?” Harry asks bluntly, and you cross your arms defensively.

“You’ll have to come with us and see, won’t you? That’s why I’ve been told to come here – Freddie insisted I invite you.” Both sets of eyes grow wide at this.

“We can go to Trident with you?” she asks in disbelief, and you nod again.

“You wanted us to keep you in the loop, didn’t you?” She goes quiet for a moment, evidently thinking about something, and then begins to goggle at you excitedly.

“Roger, don’t tell me you’re getting signed to a record label?” Harry’s eyebrows shoot up at the idea of it, sharing her look of anticipation, but you stand your ground, not wanting to give up the truth just yet.

“I’m not telling you anything until you get your arses down here! You’d better get your skates on, though - I’m not sure how long we can keep the guy waiting.” Your words act like the starting gun of a race, as the pair of them suddenly scramble backwards out of the window in unison, seeming thoroughly excited to be a part of this adventure. You’re left alone for a few moments, although you can just about hear a fresh argument happening through the open window - something offensive must have been said.

“Shut up, Harold!”

“Oi! Don’t call me Harold!”

Sniggering at their constant, intense rivalry, you move your gaze to the front door as it swings open, revealing ‘Harold’’s partially squashed and still dazed sister.

“Come in,” she says beckoning you into the living room. “We’ll be as quick as we can.” You step around her as she closes the door, and it’s at this moment that you look down and realise something incredibly funny and slightly shocking; in her hurry to let you in, spurred on by your words, she’d come downstairs wearing nothing but a t-shirt and her underwear – she really had been asleep when you’d knocked.

“Nice knickers,” you comment, unable to resist teasing her, and she looks down at her own attire for a moment, seeming to only just realise herself, before smacking you playfully on the arm.

“Shut up! You told me to hurry!” Laughter overcomes you for a short while as she starts to blush slightly, looking annoyed at herself. “Just wait here,” she snaps, half glowering and half grinning, “we’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Alright,” you sigh through your giggles, sitting down in a nearby armchair, and she turns her back on you to dash up the stairs with speed. However, once she’s almost out of sight, you can’t help but twist the knife further. “Has Brian seen you in those ones yet?” Your amusement heightens even more when Harry’s voice comes loudly from the top of the stairs, adding “or out of them!” The retort she gives reverberates around the house, making your stomach clench as you giggle with glee.

“Fuck off, the pair of you!”


	17. Won't You Sign Right Along The Dotted Line?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rudely awoken by Roger, although for good reason, you and Harry make your way to Trident Studios with him, anxious to find out what's really going on. As it happens, you're about to not only see one of the coolest places you can imagine, but also witness something you'd only ever dreamed about.

(The story now shifts back to the protagonist’s point of view.)

You have to admit - getting startled out of your blissful state of sleep prematurely, then being pushed, squashed and jabbed by your brother, and finally revealing yourself in your underwear to Roger inadvertently wasn’t the way you’d intended to start your Sunday morning! However, the mysterious yet exciting trip that Roger is now taking you on makes all of that seem unimportant, and you’re thirsty for more information. After a bit of a walk, the three of you had gotten the number 9 bus towards Soho, which is currently taking you towards Trident Studios, Roger swivelled in his seat to face the two of you sitting behind him.

“So, go on, Rog,” Harry urges impatiently, “tell us what’s going on. I can tell that you know something else that you’re not saying.” Roger’s innocent facade begins to slide, turning into a look of admission.

“Alright,” he relents, leaning more closely to the pair of you, his voice lowering seriously. “So, this bloke. He saw us at a festival in France a little while back-“

“Yes, Brian mentioned that last night,” you pipe up, nodding.

“Ah. Well, basically, he did talk to his boss about us, although nothing was done for a while, apparently – don’t know why. But yesterday, he just arrived at Trident and asked them about us, so they called us in. We played a bit, and talked about the band, but he didn’t really say much, so we weren’t sure what to think – it seemed like a bit of a non-starter, to be honest. So you could have blown me down with a feather this morning, when we got a phone call saying that he’d called back and wanted us to come to the studio straight away.” The entire time Roger had been speaking, you’d listened intently, getting more excited by the minute, and Roger’s business-like tone of voice only added to the anticipation, such a contrast to his usual cocky and carefree manner, which is not incredibly dissimilar to Harry’s.

“And has he said what he wants to do?” Harry asks, evidently as curious as you are, and in response, Roger’s mouth widens quickly into a large grin that he tries unsuccessfully to stifle.

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his head and averting his eyes, as though he doesn’t quite believe what he’s about to say. “It turns out that the company he works for is starting a new branch of their record label, and they want it to be modern, you know, to sort of get with the times and put out music that reflects what’s popular these days. I think they’re wanting to focus on modern rock.” This new information causes a fizzing to start in your stomach as you realise where this could be heading.

“Roger, are they signing you?” you ask again, wanting to believe that it could be true. “Has he come to sign Queen?” Roger pauses for a moment in response, his face freezing in a half smile as he seems to struggle with what to say, evidently knowing one thing and hoping for another.

“I don’t know,” he emits finally, laughing and lurching forwards in his seat. “They mentioned a deal, but didn’t go into what it meant.”

“A deal?” Harry parrots excitedly, his voice raising significantly, causing a couple of nearby heads to turn. “That means a record deal, doesn’t it?” Roger only continues to grin and fidget in place.

“I don’t know!” he repeats, shrugging. “I think if it had been that, they would have said it outright. I get the feeling it’s not that simple, but it’s still… well, it’s something.” You give Roger a playful smack on the arm, unable to believe that he’s not positively jumping out of his seat with joy.

“Roger, I don’t think it matters how simple it may or may not be,” you exclaim, wide-eyed. “The point is, a record label want to take you on professionally in some way – that’s so exciting!”

“Exactly, mate,” Harry adds, further emphasising your point. “This is so cool! I wish our band had a record company after us!” The three of you chuckle for a moment, and Roger regards the pair of you brightly, seeming to let his excitement come more to the surface.

“We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves and hope for something that won’t happen,” he says seriously, “but it is pretty big, I think. We’ve never had someone from a record label pursue us before – not like this, anyway.” He lets his smile show fully, all of his teeth on display, and you reach out to squeeze his hand fondly.

“I’m really pleased for you, Roger,” you say honestly, and he nods with a giggle. Before anything else can be said, Roger realises that the stop you need is coming up, so the three of you cease conversation to get off the bus, you and Harry following Roger’s lead as he takes you to Trident Studios, having never been there before. You notice the familiarity of Wardour Street, as you have visited shops here in the past, but then the group veers away onto St Anne’s Court, an unknown place to you. After a moment, you see the studio on the left hand side, a white building with several long bars running the length of the door and windows, bearing a sign that reads ‘Trident Sound Studios’. Somehow, the sight of it alone causes butterflies to start zooming around your insides – this is the most exciting thing you’ve ever been a part of. If you’re about to watch Queen, who are among your best friends in the world, never mind your added closeness with Brian, sign a record deal, or at least make some kind of agreement with a record label, then you don’t think you’ll be able to sit still for a whole week! This is the sort of thing that your own band has dreamed of, and Queen have been going for much longer than you, so their patience must have worn incredibly more thin over the years. You couldn’t be happier for them, if they really are about to finally get something that they deserve.

Roger ushers the pair of you in, and almost immediately, you’re greeted by the sight of Brian’s curly locks; the other Queen boys are standing at the far side of the lobby, chatting intensely, and at the sound of you entering, all three of them whip around, evidently a little on edge, although it’s probably out of excitement. At once, they all adopt expressions of fondness, clearly happy to see you.

“Found them!” Roger announces, striding towards the boys, and you and Harry follow suit. “Next time you send me on an errand, Fred, make it a little easier!” Laughter ensues, and as everyone begins to congregate in a circle, Brian ducks out for a moment to come towards you, a nervous grin on his face – he’s evidently both expectant and worried about what may be about to happen.

“Hi”, he greets shortly as he meets you, reaching out and drawing you into a hug quickly, and you hold him close, wanting to soothe his nerves.

“Don’t worry about this,” you insist warmly. “Whatever happens, this is amazing, and I’m really happy for you. Just keep your head, and you have the others right there with you – and me.” He leans backwards slightly to look down at you with an appreciative smile, seeming to relax a little.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he replies quietly, planting a lingering kiss on your forehead, which makes your chest flutter as you look up at him in adoration.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” you ask, wondering if his thought process is similar to Roger’s, and judging by his answer, it appears to be.

“I don’t want to say, really,” he muses, looking thoughtful. “I had the idea that both companies are going to be involved, so it’s not just a case of us being signed to a label. I don’t know, we’ll have to wait and see, I suppose.” You can still feel waves of frantic thought emanating from him.

“Do you need a good luck kiss?” you say teasingly, and a breaks into a grin. “You gave me one before our show – I think it’s only fair that I give you one now!” Exhaling in amusement, he leans down towards you, and you kiss him firmly in the hope that it boosts his confidence. Whether it worked or not, he seems to appreciate it nonetheless, gazing lovingly at you before suggesting that you rejoin the group. The pair of you sidle over to the other boys, who are deep in excited banter.

“So, my dear,” Freddie emits as he sees you, “are you ready to witness Queen go down in rock history?” Chuckles rise up from the group, and John shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’s going to be quite that, Fred,” he chides, though his smile stays in place, and Freddie casts the comment away with a flourish of his arms.

“Well, you have to be confident in this business, you know,” he says, as if he knows it all. “We’re going to be huge – mark my words. This is just the start of it!” His smugness, while typical Freddie, and also potentially misplaced, is somewhat infectious, and you can’t help but join in with him.

“I think you’re right, Freddie,” you agree with a grin. “I just knew this moment would come from the moment I met you!” Freddie seems to love your pandering, putting his arm around you and squeezing affectionately.

“See? It’s destiny!” The rest of the group continue to giggle, but before anybody else can pipe up, a man approaches you all from behind, his gaze resting on the Queen boys with familiarity.

“Alright, lads?” he greets casually, and everybody turns to face him.

“Hello Norman,” John replies with a smile, and the others greet him similarly, causing you to feel suddenly as though you don’t belong here – you and Harry are the odd ones out.

“I think Roy will be here any minute – shall we head to the office?”

“Yes, alright then,” John agrees on behalf of everyone, and Norman takes a moment to regard you and Harry with a little confusion.

“We’ve got some new faces with us today, I see,” he remarks, and before you can explain yourself, Freddie interjects boldly, stepping in front of you slightly and puffing out his chest with exuberance.

“There are some wonderful friends of ours who’ve supported us rabidly,” he exudes. “They’re also musicians themselves – and very good ones, I must say – and I think it would be very beneficial for them to watch us talk with Roy. It’ll give them some experience in knowing how to talk to record company executives. Besides,” he adds, looking sideways at you with a smirk, “you never know what their band will get up to – it could be them getting signed next!” His over-the-top speech causes you to laugh under your breath, though you appreciate his enthusiasm for you and your band – he really is a sweetheart. Norman, probably as used to Freddie’s antics as you are by now, seems to accept his reasoning, nodding slowly.

“Alright, I don’t see why they can’t sit in,” he muses, and you’re quick to step forward and speak for yourself.

“We won’t interfere at all – it’ll be like we aren’t there,” you say, hoping to appease him. “We’re thankful to be here. It’s nice to finally see this place – Queen have been telling us all about their recording sessions.” Harry then appears by your side, evidently wanting to say his piece too.

“Yes, it sounds like you have a really great studio here,” he says, looking at Norman intently. “We’d love to try it out sometime!” Wondering if such a statement might have been a little bold, as Trident have never heard of your band, you bite your lip slightly in awkwardness, though internally, you can’t deny that getting to record here would be a dream come true. Thankfully, Norman seems to take Harry’s enthusiasm well.

“Ah, well, it’s no problem,” he says, straightening up. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t hear what’s going on. I suppose a little industry experience won’t go amiss, as you say.” He looks back at Freddie, who simply beams wordlessly at him, satisfied. “Let’s get going, shall we?” As if on cue, everybody begins to move at once, following Norman into the nearby hallway.

As you walk, taking in your surroundings, you feel yourself becoming more and more awestruck by the moment; through a passing window, you glance into the mixing room of a studio, and for an aspiring recording artist, the sight is positively drool-worthy – massive mixing desks take up a large space of the room, with rows upon rows of faders, buttons and dials, more than you’ve ever seen in photographs, in fact. All sorts of cabinets housing effects machines stand in the corners, and peering through the internal window as you move along, you manage to catch sight of the live room attached to it, where a giant grand piano looms amid expensive looking microphones, a drum kit sitting on a raised platform at the back of the room. Just the thought of being able to record in an environment like this has you dumbstruck and wide-eyed – this is a much more luxurious and professional studio than you’d originally imagined, and Queen have recorded an entire album in it, the lucky sods! Turning your attention back to the group as you progress down the hallway, you tap the arm of John, who’s currently the closest person to you.

“John,” you say in a half-whisper, “didn’t The Beatles record something here once?” After Queen had originally mentioned Trident to you when they’d told you about the album, you’d done a bit of research, the name seeming familiar to you.

“Yes, I believe they did ‘Hey Jude’ here,” he replies quietly, his eyes contemplating the ceiling for a moment as he thinks. “They might have actually done a bit of their self-titled album here, too, if I remember correctly.” His confirmation only makes you more excited, but even that doesn’t prepare you for what he says next. “Actually, I’ll tell you who has done a lot of recording here,” he adds, a little smile growing upon his face. “David Bowie.” You feel your mouth begin to hang open slightly, and Harry, who must have been listening in on the conversation, almost leans across you as he quizzes John.

“Are you serious? Don’t tell me he did the Ziggy Stardust album here?” A knowing glint appears in John’s eyes, and he nods affirmatively.

“Bingo! In fact, do you remember us saying about having to wait until all sorts of ungodly hours to use these studios, as the signed acts took priority during the day?” You both nod, remembering the conversation. “Well, Bowie was one of them. He’s been recording something here, I don’t know what, since late last year. It might be a new album.” Despite the fact that you and Harry continue to walk alongside John, in all other aspects, you’ve become frozen in place, unable to process the sheer coolness of this information – Queen, recording in the same studios that gave birth to such classics? This is too much to handle!

“John, this is the coolest thing ever,” you hiss quietly, trying to both not draw attention to yourself and get your excitement across simultaneously. “I’m so glad for you, getting to record in a place like this!” John seems quite satisfied as he nods in response.

“It’s certainly been an interesting experience, I have to say,” he replies with a smile. “As an electrician, I feel quite at home around all this machinery.” He chuckles lightly, and you follow suit, reminded that John did in fact do his degree in electronics. It appears as though the group has arrived at its destination, as everybody slows down to file into a room, and as you enter, you can’t help but look back at Harry in disbelief.

“This is mental,” you say in reference to the studio’s rich musical history, and he nods, knowing exactly what you’re talking about.

“We have GOT to get in here, sis,” he replies quickly, looking fervent. “We’ve met someone here now – it must be able to give us a way in.” Unsure, but slightly optimistic nonetheless, you nod, the conversation running dry as you enter the office. Norman seems to have already prepared plenty of chairs for everybody involved, placed in an arc around a desk, but as he turns to look back at you, he points towards a couple left at the back of the room.

“Do feel free to sit there, if you like,” he offers to you and Harry, and you thank him, taking seats obediently as he and the Queen boys arrange themselves around the desk, waiting for Roy Featherstone’s arrival. After sitting down and casting around for a moment, Brian catches your eye, and you give him an encouraging smile, which he returns, his curls bobbing as he swivels back to face the front. The boys fall into scattered conversation with Norman, and Harry pipes up again, clearly not over what John had to say earlier.

“Ziggy Stardust,” he muses, shaking his head. “That’s probably the most important record of last year, if not the ‘70s so far. I can’t believe it was made here. He’s walked the same corridor we have, sis.” You’re almost annoyed at him for setting off your awestruck fervour again, picturing Bowie coming around the corner to have a chat with Norman. Instead of replying, you settle for attempting to smother your grin as you watch the back of everybody’s heads as they talk. Then, with a shrill tone, the phone on Norman’s desk rings, and it seems as though things are about to start moving as he picks it up, a very brief conversation ensuing.

“Hello? Ah, perfect – send him in. Thank you.” As he replaces the receiver, an air of seriousness seems to descend upon everybody in the room; conversation grinds to a halt, and the boys shuffle in their seats, evidently collecting themselves in preparation for what is about to happen. Gazing fondly at them, you silently will them the best of luck for whatever this meeting may hold, praying that they’ll be granted the record deal they so deserve.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting, the door swings open, and the man himself appears; Roy Featherstone immediately has a personable sort of energy about him from the moment he steps into the room. Though wearing quite a sharp suit, which could cut a rather intimidating presence, his expression is open and friendly, and the thin, light hair atop his head softens his face, making him seem a lot more easy-going than you’d imagined a record executive would be. Norman is quick to stand and greet him, ushering him into the room properly and offering the remaining seat to him. Before he can sit, however, all of the Queen boys jump to their feet and shake his hand enthusiastically, evidently wanting to come across as professional. Once Roy is seated, he reintroduces himself properly.

“Now, as you know, I’m currently the director of the artists and repertoire division at EMI.” As the boys nod their heads and emit sounds of acknowledgement, you and Harry both find yourselves having to stifle your gasps; EMI are one of the biggest companies in the entire music industry, having worked with a lot of your favourite bands, and a considerable force to be reckoned with.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry mutters into your ear, barely audible, “they didn’t fucking mention THAT before.” A little bewildered, you nod in agreement – this whole scenario just keeps getting bigger and bigger by the minute.

“Harry,” you joke in a whisper, grasping his hand, “I think I’m having a seizure. This is too good to be true!” He nudges you to signal you to be quiet, though grins widely in response, and taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, you turn your attention back to the conversation.

Over the next hour and a half, approximately, you and Harry watch a very involved, and at times, confusing discussion unfold, Roy leading it predominantly, with Norman chipping in at times. Though a little shy at first, the Queen boys begin to pipe up themselves after a while, asking questions and evidently wanting to understand every detail of what Roy is proposing. After about half an hour, the four of them are chatting away, their confidence boosted, and to your surprise, Brian and John do just as much of the talking as Freddie and Roger, the usual loudmouths of any situation. You’re quite proud of them for the way they’re challenging what is said, hoping to understand and negotiate properly. While some of it is a bit of a blur to you and Harry, some music industry jargon that you’ve never heard before thrown into the mix, you manage to grasp the basics of the deal that Roy is offering:

If Queen were a completely independent band, without any professional help, Roy would be offering to sign them completely over to EMI, the company taking on all responsibilities for Queen. However, their involvement with Trident makes things a little sticky; Trident are a production company, meaning that they provide musicians with the facilities and personnel required to record their music, and upon completion, attempt to reach out to other companies to get their work published. Queen had already signed this production deal with Trident last year, and with the addition of Trident agreeing to manage the band on top of this – not a usual responsibility, but Queen had asked – this makes for a slightly more complicated situation with this new involvement of EMI. Instead of the usual record deal, where EMI would essentially ‘own’ the group entirely and take on all responsibilities, Roy proposes a license deal, which would entail the boys sticking with Trident for the management and recording part of the process, while EMI would take care of everything else, including the publishing and distribution of their music.

It’s a little difficult to understand in places, especially as you aren’t used to hearing so many technical terms – it makes you realise how naïve you actually are when it comes to the music industry, resolving to try to learn more to benefit your own band, if you ever get lucky enough to deal with industry officials in the future. However, after much discussion and negotiation, it seems as though everybody involved has reached an agreement; Norman accepts the terms Roy is setting for the deal, and gives his blessing for Queen to sign, if that’s what they want to do. Queen mutter furiously amongst themselves for a few moments, checking with each other whether this is the correct thing to do, and after a tense few minutes, during which you aren’t sure of their thoughts, they fall silent, Freddie turning to Roy with one of his trademark demure smiles.

“Where do we sign, darling?” You find yourself almost bouncing in your seat with joy as Roy gives a little chuckle, producing the completed paperwork, and as Harry looks at you with a similarly excited expression, you realise that you’ve grabbed his arm in your fervour.

“Are you seeing this?” you whisper to him, and he nods with vigour, grinning widely.

“This could be us one day,” he remarks, a faraway look in his eye, and you exhale a quiet laugh, hoping that his far flung fantasies could come true. After a few quiet moments, during which the boys, Roy and Norman finish signing the contract, everybody stands up and begins to shake hands, the Queen boys looking positively exuberant and victorious – this is the answer to everything they’d been hoping for!

“Now,” Roy emits as the chatter dies down, “as I mentioned, publishing of the album will go ahead as soon as possible, and we’ll be putting on a live concert to promote its release. As for now, we’ll be in touch shortly to discuss a lead single, and in the meantime, some press releases will be organised. You’ll hear the details as soon as they’re available.” Queen nod enthusiastically, and your mind boggles at the thought of them in magazines, on the radio, being interviewed, announcing their first single… it’s incredible. The meeting then comes to an end, and Roy thanks everyone for their cooperation before exiting the office, swiftly followed by Norman. As soon as the door closes behind them, the entire room breaks down into hysterics; while Brian and John simply sport massive grins, looking a little overwhelmed, Freddie and Roger jump up from their seats, yelling incomprehensibly in celebration, and you and Harry quickly follow suit.

“This is it!” Roger exclaims happily. “We’re signed to EMI!” Freddie dashes towards you, scooping you up into his arms and lifting you off the ground before you can resist, swinging you about.

“We’re going to be famous!” he declares jubilantly. “We’re going to be rich!” Laughter erupts at his presumptuous statements, and you end up smiling so much, you feel as though your face is about to fall off.

“This is amazing!” you exude merrily, wrapping your arms tightly around Freddie’s neck. “You’re a signed act! The album can finally come out!”

“I’m so glad our effort in making it wasn’t wasted,” John replies, looking thoroughly pleased, and as Freddie decides to plonk you back down onto the ground, you rush over to Brian, who’s still standing in place, looking bewildered.

“You did it,” you say softly, holding him close and resting your head against him, your cheek pressing gently against his collarbone. “I’m so happy for you.” His arms come around you, and you hear him exhale the remaining tension from inside him.

“This is a bit crazy,” he says with a laugh, “but yeah, I suppose this is it now – we can make some real progress!” His voice strengthens with each word as his wits return to him fully, and you feel him kiss the top of your head.

“How do you feel?” you ask as you gaze up at him, and his shoulders shudder with his laughter.

“Excited!” Giggling, you pull him close again, unable to truly express how pleased you are for them all, and in honesty, you feel a little jealous too, but it will only serve to further motivate you to make something happen for your own band.

“What should we do now?” Roger asks the room, and John replies quickly.

“I suspect Norman will be back any second to tie things up with us,” he says rationally, “but after that – well, I suppose a celebration is on the cards!” A cheer rises up from the others, and Freddie nudges him with a grin.

“I like your style, Deaky! In fact, I think we should make a proper night of it – let’s paint the town, darlings!”

“Tonight?” John queries, and Freddie nods.

“Absolutely! We’re a signed act now, you know.” He waves his arms flamboyantly as he says so, and you giggle. “Let’s head to the Marquee, or maybe back to Whiskey’s, and have a real affair – I’ll bring some friends!”

“Sounds good to me,” Roger agrees enthusiastically, and Brian nods. Freddie then turns to you, still entangled happily in Brian’s embrace.

“Will you two be coming with us?” He glances between you and Harry, and your immediate response is to agree, though a split second later, you realise that getting into trouble with your mother for staying out at such a time is not the best idea, not to mention the prospect of nursing a hangover at college the next day. However, this is not an ordinary occasion, and a huge part of you wants to throw your mother’s metaphorical rule book out of the window and go anyway.

“We’ll probably have to crash at yours again,” you tell Brian and Roger, “and lie about studying. Just don’t talk about electrons this time, Rog.” Everyone giggles raucously at the reminder of Roger’s downfall, and Roger himself covers his face with his hands.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” he exclaims with a self-deprecating grin.

“What do you think, Harry?” you ask, and his lopsided, devious smirk says it all.

“You know what? I’d just love to learn all about electrons, all night, in fact! If by electrons, you mean beer!” More laughter follows, and then Freddie claps his hands together sharply, making you jump a little.

“Right,” he barks, “that’s settled, then. You two go home first, so it doesn’t look completely terrible,” he instructs, pointing at you and Harry, “and then meet us later. We can call and decide things this afternoon. Oh, and do tell your bandmates that they’re more than welcome to come too.” Everybody nods in agreement, and you appreciate the gesture, promising to invite Dave, Charlie and Tom. Freddie then rubs his hands together in relish. “This is going to be great,” he says excitedly. “Don’t forget to dress the part tonight, either – I’m going to absolutely out-ponce everyone!” You can’t help but laugh, finding his choice of words hilarious, so glad that he never hides his extroverted personality.

“I’ll do my best,” you reply, “although I’m never going to beat you! I’ll have to see what I’ve got.” A cheeky look appears on Freddie’s face as you say this.

“Oh, don’t be coy,” he teases. “I bet you’ve got some real sexy little numbers hidden away!” Everybody guffaws at his suggestion.

“I don’t wear anything that revealing!” you protest, grinning. “Not in front of you, anyway!” Roger then wiggles up to you, looking positively mischievous.

“That wasn’t the case earlier,” he rebuts lewdly, “when you were showing me your kni-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence due to your elbow cracking him jovially in the stomach.


	18. The Light Of The Night Burned Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having witnessed the extraordinary moment that Queen signed their deal with Trident and EMI, it's now time for the celebratory night out, and you couldn't be more excited! Time to let your hair down and party!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Queenies! I do need to apologise for being so late with this chapter, but I'm afraid I've been having some health problems that have distracted me from writing. Don't worry though - I'll write as often as I can, and you'd better believe I have a lot planned for this fic! Please enjoy!

“Bugger!” The word ricochets off the walls of Harry’s room, bouncing along the corridor like a rubber ball and making itself heard loud and clear in your own bedroom. Momentarily startled, you stop what you’re doing to call back in response.

“What?” Instead of a verbal response, you’re greeted with the sound of movement as you hear him leave his room. After a moment, your door swings backwards to reveal him, sporting an expression that’s evidently holding back laughter, and after glancing at him for a second, you see what’s so funny; Harry has clearly been attempting to put make-up on himself in preparation for tonight’s upcoming celebration, and while his left eye has been successfully framed in black eyeliner, his right eye is a glaringly obvious smudgy mess, as though he’d slipped and ruined it, and then made it even worse while trying to erase it – it looks as though someone’s cracked him around the face with a lump of coal. Highly amused, you waste no time in bursting into laughter at the sight of him, and instead of defending himself, he simply joins in, knowing full well how silly he looks. “Maybe you should leave it,” you joke amid the giggles, “it might catch on.”

“Oh yeah,” he shoots back, still laughing at himself, “I’m sure the panda look is all the rage! Help me out, will you?” Kicked into action by his prompting, you open the drawer of your dresser, producing some make-up remover, and not caring in the slightest that Harry has burst into your room while you’re in your underwear; as close siblings, the pair of you have seen each other in just about every compromising situation you can imagine – undressed, drunk, upset, asleep and ill – leading it to be quite impossible for anything to be embarrassing between the two of you. However, as you begin to remove the dark patch of eyeliner from Harry’s face, you have to stifle your reaction as you remember that he’s not the only person to see you in your underwear today, recalling Roger’s unexpected visit to your house – THAT was not as comfortable. Shaking your head, you laugh internally at yourself, resolving to be a bit more mindful, the only other guy worthy of seeing your underwear in your mind being Brian. Once the right side of Harry’s face has stopped resembling a panda, you put down the make-up remover and grab your own eyeliner, gesturing towards him questioningly. “Shall I?”

“Oh yeah, you do it, sis,” he replies enthusiastically, seeming relieved at your offer. “You’re better at this stuff than me.”

“Alright, well, lean down a bit,” you instruct, giggling as he reduces the height difference between you by hunching awkwardly, his hands resting on his knees and his rear end sticking out comically. Concentrating, you steadily draw the eyeliner across his lower lid as he attempts not to blink, trying to match the other eye as best you can. Satisfied with your work, you nod and allow him to check it in your mirror.

“Ah, thanks sis,” he exhales, looking pleased with it. “Just don’t tell anyone I get me sister to do my make-up.” You giggle at the lopsided grin he displays.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you the laughing stock of Kensington,” you reply with amusement. “Although, I’d bet money that if you ask any boy with make-up you see tonight how they put theirs on, at least a third of them will say that they got their girlfriend or their sister to do it.” Harry nods, his grin staying in place, and then he meets your eyes mischievously before adding to your statement.

“Or their mum!” The pair of you scoff with laughter, picturing the scene in your mind’s eye, and then Harry checks his appearance briefly in the mirror once more before beginning to back out of the room. “I’ll just ring the others and tell them they can come here whenever they’re ready.”

“Hang on,” you urge, a thought suddenly occurring to you as you cast your eyes towards your bed. “I might need some help here.” Harry reappears from behind the door to see what you’re talking about, and you reach to pick up the garment currently laying across your bed, holding it up for him to see – a pair of very slim-fitting black leather trousers. In an attempt to be a little more daring, you’d recently bought them from the Biba boutique, Mary and Freddie insisting that they’d look great on you, but in your uncertainty, you hadn’t worn them yet. Looking as though they’re going to be very skintight on you, you might appreciate Harry repaying the favour and helping you into them.

“Whoa,” Harry emits as he stares at the trousers, “they look like drainies.” You chuckle momentarily at the word, remembering it being commonly used in the 50s and 60s to refer to the ‘drainpipe’ fit trousers that were so popular amongst teenagers. Indeed, they are similarly skinny, and now that you’re looking at them properly, you concede that they may be a little too slim for your frame. Wanting to give them a shot regardless, you take a seat on your bed, undoing the trousers and putting your feet into the legs, and as you begin to pull them up, it does seem as though you’re going to have a bit of a fight on your hands; the material of the trousers begins to stick as you try to pass them up over your knees, and you feel yourself beginning to laugh at the potential futility of the situation.

“I don’t think this is going to work!”

“No, they’ll fit,” Harry insists, diving to his knees at your feet, “keep going!” He grabs the trousers, the pair of you working to ease the material upwards, and while you’re partially worried that his rough handling might tear them, you’re also trying your best not to giggle at the two of you struggling with the things, looking like a right pair of idiots. “Stand up!” Harry urges, and you comply as he wrenches the waistband upwards, the leather slowly sliding up your thighs as though they’re sausages being forced into a skin that’s slightly too small.

“I wanted to wear them tonight ‘cause Freddie said he wanted to ‘out-ponce’ everyone,” you mutter as you pull. “I’ll probably never beat his fashion sense, but I’ve got to at least try!”

“I’ve never seen them before,” Harry replies without looking up from the trousers.

“No, I only just bought them really. I want to see Fred’s face when he sees them.” As you finish your sentence, the trousers seem to shift into place at last, and you button them victoriously, glancing up at the surprised expression on Harry’s face.

“That’s crazy,” he marvels, and you move around him to view yourself in the mirror; it’s a very striking sight, your legs appearing the skinniest they’ve ever looked in your life, encased in the dull shine of the leather, and since flared trousers are pretty much the most popular style at the moment, you feel as though you’ll stand out even more if you wear these to the club – they might just be the thing you need to outshine Freddie for once!

“They’re actually quite comfy once they’re on,” you note honestly, feeling the way they seem to mould to your shape, given a minute to settle onto your frame. Harry continues to stare open-mouthed at them for a moment before speaking again.

“I want some,” he announces with a grin. “You’ll have to take me to Biba sometime.”

“Oh yes,” you exude, a mental picture forming in your mind, “I’m sure Freddie would love to dress you up like he does with all his girls!” Harry’s smile very quickly slips into a grimace at the prospect, and you can’t suppress the bark of laughter that arises at his comically sudden reaction.

“Right,” he emits, clearly trying to change the subject, “I’ll go ring the others now!” Before you can say another word, he slinks out of your room and downstairs to the phone, leaving you to finish getting dressed, which you manage quickly, having already decided what else you’d been planning to wear with the leather trousers. As you gather your things together, you notice yourself smiling, realising after a moment that it’s because of Harry; it might be silly, but the pair of you fixing make-up and wrestling with a pair of trousers is something that reminds you of just how fond you are of Harry. The two of you have always gotten up to stupid antics like that, and it makes you feel quite nostalgic, at the same time as realising how grateful you are that the pair of you are well and truly back on the same page again after Harry’s stint of bullying. Resolving not to think about that awful phase anymore, you make your own way downstairs, sitting close to Harry so that you can hear whoever’s on the other end of the phone. Having invited the rest of your band out after telling them the incredible news of Queen’s joint signing with Trident and EMI, you’d all agreed to meet at your house, being the closest to where you need to go to catch the number 9 bus towards Soho. Currently, you can hear that Charlie is locked in a heated debate with Harry about said travel arrangements.

“I told you, I’m not doing it!” His voice rings shrilly through the receiver, reaching your ears despite the distance, and Harry’s eyes flick upwards to you momentarily in amused disdain as he replies.

“But it’s so much easier if you bring the old rust-bucket! It makes sense, Charlie – you’re our designated driver!” Gathering that Harry’s trying to convince him to act as a taxi for the evening instead of you all taking the bus, you snort with laughter, not blaming Charlie in the slightest for wanting to get just as drunk as everyone else plans to be. The pair of you burst into fresh giggles as Charlie’s reply comes loud and clear.

“Designated driver – my arse!”

\--

Charlie’s refusal to ferry you all around has sealed your fate of taking the bus to Soho, and the five of you are currently experiencing a rather awkward atmosphere as you sit close to each other, enduring stares from the other passengers; it hadn’t occurred to you just how alien you might look in comparison to the regularly dressed adults who are dotted around the bus, taking in your extravagant outfits with disapproving looks. It is quite funny though, and you can’t help but shoot the guys a sudden look of amused alarm when you catch a smartly dressed man sitting not too far away, ogling slightly at the slim shape of your legs in the leather trousers. Your shoulders shake as you try not to laugh out loud, waiting for them all to notice, and once they do, adopting similar giggly expressions, Harry leans backwards in his seat.

“Oi mate, you looking at my sister?” He shouts the question in a lower, more hooligan-esque voice that he would normally use, clearly hoping to unnerve the man, and it seems to work; he snaps his gaze away, regarding the empty seat next to him with a look of shame and panic, his face starting to turn red, and the rest of the boys begin cackling loudly at his expense. You join in on the laughter, half cringing at the moment, before you all calm down.

“I’m actually really looking forward to tonight,” Charlie says. “I drive around so much, it’s like a miracle when I actually get a night off!”

“Yeah,” Dave chips in, “and you can get absolutely sloshed!” Everyone chuckles at the comment, as Charlie can’t help but nod in agreement.

“That’s what I’m doing,” Harry announces, looking pleased with himself. “I’m gonna drink until I can’t stand, and then you’ll-“ He whips around, pressing a pointed finger into your cheek. “-have to carry me back to Sinclair Road!”

“No, I bloody won’t!” you retort, laughing along with the other boys. Having used Roger’s fabled biology tuition once more to allow you to stay over at Sinclair Road after the celebrations, you’re starting to wonder just how many times you’re likely to be able to get away with it before your mother cottons onto the fact that something else is afoot.

“I think you’ll find, sis,” Harry continues, putting on a smug air as he jokes, “that since I’m your brother, I can demand-“

“There’s Fred!” Tom’s exclamation halts the jesting, and you all crane your heads in the direction that he’s pointing to catch a very brief glimpse of Freddie and Mary strolling down the street, the bus having just passed them. You’re not quite at the stop you’d intended to get off at yet, but a sudden excitement having come over the group, you all follow suit as Dave rises from his seat, making his way down the bus towards the driver. After a moment, the bus pulls to a stop at a traffic light.

“Mate, you couldn’t let us out here, could you?” Dave asks the driver hopefully, and he thinks for a second before relenting, opening the door with a “go on, then.” The group bombards him with thanks almost simultaneously, before hopping off the bus and onto the pavement below. It’s a little cold tonight, but the thought quickly slips your mind as you jog to keep up with the boys, who are making their way towards the slowly approaching Freddie and Mary. As soon as he realises who it is, Freddie bursts into a familiar smile, waving one arm excitedly at you all, his other hand occupied by clasping Mary’s. As you all slow to a halt in front of them, catching your breath, Freddie turns to Mary.

“Now I’ve got lots of new people to introduce you to,” he says, seeming suddenly jovial at your arrival. “Nice to see you, boys,” he greets, looking around at you all, before his gaze rests on you. “And here she is, the belle of the ball – oh, wow!” Following his eye line, you realise that he’s reacting to the sight of your legs in the leather trousers, and suddenly reminded of your quest to ‘out-ponce’ Freddie, as he’d so memorably put it, you strike an exaggerated pose.

“What do you think, Fred? Quite alluring, wouldn’t you say?” You burst into giggles at your own speech, feeling as though you can’t carry off the camp air as well as Freddie does. Freddie himself, however, is far too busy admiring the trousers to notice, taking a hold of your sleeve and dragging you gently over to the nearest streetlight to get a better look at them.

“Now, I did say you should buy these,” he says, “but I didn’t realise they’d look this good! I might have to buy a pair myself, you know!”

“That’s what I said,” Harry chimes in, and while the group laughs quietly, you take the opportunity to look at what Freddie’s wearing; clad in black from head to toe as you are, he’s sporting a very form fitting top in a soft, silky material, and small silver gems stud the fabric in lines, cascading down both the left hand side of his body and the opposite sleeve. His trousers are slim, flaring slightly at the ankles, his trim waist accentuated by the wide, silver belt attached to them. On his feet are a very chunky pair of black boots with a considerable heel, and finishing the look is a delicate, silver metal bracelet of sorts, clasped around the top of his arm. It’s a look that feels distinctly Freddie, and you can’t help but smile at it.

“Well, you look wonderful, as promised,” you state approvingly, and his shoulders jerk upwards as he shrugs the compliment away in typical Freddie style.

“I did say I was going to dress up, didn’t I? This is another potential stage costume, actually. I thought I’d give it a try tonight.”

“Well, I for one certainly think you’ll out-ponce the lot of them in it!” The pair of you descend into giggles, Freddie wrapping his arms around you and squeezing briefly in affection. He then proceeds to introduce Mary to the boys, and once everybody’s acquainted, you all take off en masse towards your destination, the Marquee Club, Freddie insisting that the other Queen boys are probably already there.

“Time to hit the town with my two favourite girls!” he chirps, sidling up between you and Mary to link arms with the pair of you, and Mary shoots you a contented smile as you both laugh and indulge him, striding cheerfully down the street as one.

It doesn’t take you long to reach the Marquee Club, taking in the crowds of people lining the street as you approach it; despite the fact that it’s a Sunday night, and most of these people probably have work or university tomorrow, London is still alive with the excitable chatter of party-goers. Feeling glad to be a part of this youthful, carefree scene, you glance happily at Freddie and Mary as your group enters the club. The heat of the building hits you instantly, the reason you didn’t bring a jacket tonight, despite the chill in the air outside. It’s quite crowded, and as you all attempt to file through the bodies, Freddie reaches back and takes your hand so as not to lose you in the crush. You follow his lead, pushing forwards until you reach a pocket of air, a less crowded area of the club, spying the bar up ahead. After a moment, Freddie begins to pull you towards it quickly, evidently having spotted a familiar face, and peering around him curiously, you catch sight of John standing not too far away, drink in hand. He smiles and raises his glass as you all approach, seeming pleased to see you all.

“Evening,” he greets, looking relaxed, and the group share enthusiastic ‘hello’s. As Freddie drops your hand to put his arm around Mary, John leans across the bar, tapping on someone’s shoulder, and Roger and Brian turn to reveal themselves, also carrying drinks of their own.

“Ah, the party can begin!” Roger remarks loudly, seeming in very high spirits. “You look great, by the way,” he adds, glancing sideways at your leather trousers in a way that you can tell is approving but harmless, especially considering Brian is standing next to him.

“Thanks,” you reply with a grin, “it’s Freddie’s influence.”

“Of course!” He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and then shuffles along the bar towards the others to say hello. As you turn back to face Brian, he simply stares at you for a moment, which makes you feel a little strange, but the more you study his face, the more you appreciate his unwavering gaze; his hazel eyes sweep the length of you, probably more openly than he’d intended, taking in your appearance, and you suspect the trousers are doing something to add a little extra enjoyment to what he’s seeing. Doing the same to him, you admire the way his own trousers encase his legs in black corduroy, emphasising his own slim figure and towering height, before flaring out massively, the tips of his trademark scuffed white clogs peeking out from underneath them. You can’t help but smile at the noticeable juxtaposition of the clothes, his endearingly unfashionable clogs paired with trousers that mirror what a lot of people seem to be wearing tonight – his sense of style is oddly adorable. Brian then seems to realise that he hasn’t spoken yet, pulling himself together and raising his eyes to meet yours at last.

“Hi, sorry,” he mumbles shyly, seeming a little embarrassed as you lean in to hug him with a laugh.

“Brian,” you purr into his ear cheekily, “I’m your girlfriend – you can look at me like that all you like.” Your ear pressed against his chest, you hear his breath falter slightly in reaction to the comment, though while he chuckles, relaxing into you, he doesn’t say anything more. You find yourself feeling somewhat endeared by the way he’s not outwardly lascivious like most boys are, preferring to act romantic rather than lewd, though also more than capable of it in the bedroom, away from prying eyes. He is exactly as Freddie had once described him – a gentleman. Feeling a rush of affection, you pull back to look up into his eyes, hoping for a kiss, and he doesn’t disappoint, the natural magnetism between you pulling you together instinctively. After the pair of you separate, your band set about getting drinks for everyone who hasn’t already got one, and once you all have a glass in your hand, Freddie takes it upon himself to step into the middle of the group, encouraging you all to congregate in a circle around him.

“Right, I’m officially proposing a toast,” he announces gaily, his cheeks glowing and eyes creasing with joy. As he holds up his glass purposefully in front of him, everyone else moves to do the same, sharing happy smiles. Before he continues, Freddie uses his free hand to beckon Mary over to him from the side of the circle, and she complies with a laugh, Freddie practically gluing her to his side with his arm, which you find incredibly sweet – he can’t seem to go a moment without her by his side whenever she’s around. “This is a toast to us four Queens,” he continues, raising his voice and regarding everybody in turn around the circle, “and our shiny new deal with Trident and EMI, and it’s my magisterial decree that the British public had better prepare themselves, because Queen are about to rule the world!” There’s an immediate cheer from the group as he finishes his speech, and though his act is rather silly and over-exaggerated, as usual, it serves to draw everyone together in a tangible camaraderie, all here for the same reason – Queen are about to take a big step in their career, and you’re all so pleased to be here to support them. As if to punctuate the moment, you feel Brian’s hand softly rest upon your shoulder, and as you glance at him, sharing a smile, he grips you fondly. “So,” Freddie addresses the group again, “here’s to our wonderful music topping the charts, lots of success, and lots of money!” There’s a collective laugh as he says this, and Dave pipes up merrily, raising his glass higher.

“To Queen!” The group echoes his statement loudly, thrusting their drinks into the air, and in the moment of quiet that briefly ensues, Freddie gazes at everyone, a mischievous glint growing steadily in his eye.

“Now,” he says, breaking into a look of ecstatic fervour, “let’s get absolutely off our faces!” The cheer that meets his suggestion is deafening, raucous laughter quickly following, before everyone takes a hearty swig of their drinks, the party officially underway.

__

After an hour or so, the alcohol flowing generously and the music bolstering everybody’s good moods, you’re thoroughly enjoying your evening. While others are milling around, chatting in smaller groups or swaying to the music, you’re still standing at the bar, currently engrossed in a conversation with John. You feel as though this is quite overdue, having met John last out of the four Queen boys, and finally getting to know him better is a nice feeling. John had just been telling you about his electronics degree and some of the things he’s built, which apparently includes an amplifier that Brian uses, and the conversation briefly reminds you of the time Brian told you about all the household appliances his dad had made.

“Bit of a smarty, then,” you comment, shooting him a grin, and he smiles, shaking his head.

“It’s not too difficult, really. I enjoy it.” 

“Sounds about right for you,” you reply with a smirk. “They don’t call you ‘Easy Deacon’ for nothing!” He bursts into laughter at the mention of one of his nicknames, awarded to him for the way he tends to make everything seem easy, regardless of how difficult the task actually is.

“Hmm,” he muses, collecting himself, “I’m not so sure about that one now. Sort of sounds like the other kind of ‘easy’…” Realising what he means, you guffaw at the prospect.

“Oh god, let’s not go spreading that notion around!” As you both giggle again, you glance momentarily at the people dancing nearby, wishing that a song you like more was playing, as you rather fancy a dance yourself. “What kind of music are you into, then?” you ask John, curious to know what his favourite bands are.

“Oh, all-sorts, really,” he says, contemplating the question, “although I am quite into prog these days. I do enjoy Yes.” Your eyes light up as you process this new information, excited to have more to talk about with him.

“Oh, Yes are quite good,” you agree. “They’re getting big now, aren’t they? I think that sort of stuff is still popular. Didn’t their last album have a song that was so long, it took up a whole side of the record by itself?”

“Yeah,” John confirms with an amused grin, “they’re quite experimental. Roger doesn’t like them much, which he loves to remind me of on a regular basis.” The scenario plays out in your mind, Roger’s teasing of John’s music taste something you can imagine happening quite easily.

“Well, forget him,” you say playfully, “I like Yes too - we can outnumber him!” Your light-hearted encouragement seems to have hit the spot, as John chuckles, looking pleased and nodding in agreement. Just as you’re enjoying the moment, you feel a light pressure against your arm, and turning your head to see the source, come face to face with Brian, who’s evidently just made his way over to you.

“Alright?” you ask, and he nods, though looks momentarily bothered by something as he leans across you to place his glass down on the bar, a little of his drink left inside it. “Are you sure?” you probe, and he pretends to wince slightly.

“I’d just better not have any more,” he replies, “or I’ll end up completely drunk! I haven’t eaten much today, so it’s going right through me!” His admission makes you laugh at his apparent lightweight nature when it comes to alcohol, although you have to admit that having an empty stomach definitely does get you drunk more quickly.

“Why haven’t you eaten?” you ask curiously, and he displays a lightly troubled expression as he elaborates.

“I went to my parents’ house for dinner earlier, just to say ‘hello’ and tell them about the EMI deal, but I didn’t feel very…” You stay silent as he trails off, waiting for him to continue naturally. “…I’m not exactly a vegetarian or anything, but sometimes I do feel a bit bad, you know, that something had to die for me to have dinner.” The confession catches you off guard somewhat, having never heard about this side of Brian before and not realised that he cared this much about animals.

“What did they have for dinner?”

“Lamb,” he replies, his face scrunching in displeasure. “I don’t know, I suppose I haven’t come to a proper conclusion yet, but I do feel a bit strangely about it… besides, my mum gave the whole speech, you know – ‘your father worked really hard to earn the money to buy that meat!’.” Both you and John giggle, knowing exactly the style of motherly lecture he’s referring to. The more you think about it, the more endearing Brian’s sentiments become; he really is a gentle soul, and while most people would find him too soft, off-putting, you like him just the way he is. “But yeah, well,” he continues, “I didn’t eat much of it, so now I’m getting drunk more easily.”

“Does that mean it’s time for another drink, then?” John teases, coming out of his usually quiet shell to playfully torment Brian by grabbing the remains of his discarded drink and sloshing the liquid around in the glass in front of his face.

“No!” Brian urges, batting his hand and the glass away gently, and while the pair of them laugh, you find yourself enjoying the friendship between them, and John’s rare silly moments, which you sincerely hope to see more of. As the conversation dies down, you cast your gaze back towards the dance floor and spy Freddie, but this time, he’s not attached to Mary’s side, but standing amongst a small group of boys you don’t know; they’d arrived a little while ago, greeting Freddie with familiarity, and he’d introduced them to you all as friends he knew from around town. While they’d seemed nice enough, they hadn’t really mingled with the rest of your large group, preferring to stick with Freddie, so you hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to them. Thinking about it, you get the impression that Freddie has a lot of casual acquaintances like this, due to his chatty nature, so it makes sense that anywhere he goes, admirers will follow! After few more minutes of chat, Freddie appears at John’s side, looking a little giddy.

“Guys,” he emits loudly, “the boys have suggested a really great place for us to go – we should head there now! What do you say?” As if to cajole you all into agreeing, he nudges John’s arm playfully, and the three of you look between each other enquiringly.

“I was thinking earlier that the music’s not the best in here tonight,” you state, and everyone chunners quietly in agreement, evidently having been thinking something similar.

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Freddie urges excitedly, his eyes widening as he ushers you all towards him. “I need to dance!” Deciding to indulge him, you all nod and follow as he beckons you back towards the club’s entrance, catching the attention of everybody else to tell them about the new plan. As you all spill back onto the street as a group, it strikes you just how many of you there are, now that Freddie’s mystery friends have joined the party. After taking a moment to make sure everybody’s present, one of the boys from the other group calls out to you all.

“You all coming, then?” Before anyone can answer, Freddie springs into action, making a bit of a scene as he flounces up to the nearest people, who happen to be a couple of your bandmates.

“Of course we are,” he wails gleefully, gesticulating flamboyantly as he speaks and fluttering his eyelashes. “Tonight is our celebration! Let’s paint the town!” Before Tom can prevent it from happening, Freddie lunges forwards, linking arms with him aggressively, before wheeling around and marching off down the street, practically dragging Tom alongside him. The scene is hilarious, particularly as Tom appears completely bemused by Freddie’s closeness, and while everybody laughs and begins to follow them towards your new destination, one of the other boys shouts at Freddie.

“Poof!” The insult rings out clearly in the cold night air, and the other boys around him guffaw heartily. Freddie seems completely unaffected by the slur.

“Oh, stop it – I’m too good for you, anyway!” His response rouses another bout of laughter from everybody, and the boys seem determined to win the banterous game.

“Not from what I’ve heard!”

“Yeah,” calls a different boy, joining in, “you still up for that orgy later, or what?” More giggles hit the air at the ridiculous conversation, especially as it’s being shouted back and forth as you head down the street, leading passers-by to react with confusion and distaste.

“Oh, honestly,” Freddie sighs with a grin, seeming to give up, and instead, focus his attention on striking up a normal conversation with Tom. The boys don’t hurl any more jokes his way, and the group falls into scattered talk as you make your way to this mystery location you’re being taken to. As funny as the whole exchange had been, a part of you wonders about Freddie’s behaviour ever since those boys have shown up; while his camp demeanour is always present no matter who he’s with, he’s not usually quite so flirty, especially with Mary around, and more than anything, you hope that she isn’t feeling left out because of it. You cast around for her, but see that she’s merely smiling and shaking her head as if she’s seen it a million times before, so you shrug and drop the thought, conceding that Freddie’s probably just over-excited tonight because of the sense of occasion, and who can blame him? Queen’s first album will be released soon! They’re finally getting the recognition they deserve, and if that’s not an excuse for celebration and outlandish behaviour, you don’t know what is!

The group winds its way through the streets, a train of bodies walking in clusters, too many of you to be entirely side by side. Striding along next to John and Brian, you start to feel a real sense of belonging; if someone had told you in January that you were about to become solid friends with Queen, play shows with them, and be amongst their entourage as they celebrate being signed, you wouldn’t have believed it. Your own band operated in different social circles to them, not as popular, respected or experienced, and a chance encounter leading to the lot of you become genuinely close friends, never mind the relationship between you and Brian, is something you’ll always be thankful for. As you’re enjoying the reverie, you’re suddenly jolted out of it by something colliding with you; Brian squeezes your shoulder apologetically as he steadies himself, evidently having just stumbled into your side.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and you can’t help but giggle at his embarrassment.

“Are you actually drunk?” you ask, and his expression gets even more amusing as he grins, shaking his head, his curls flailing with the movement.

“Not really, I’m just a little bit tipsy, I think,” he mumbles, chuckling at himself. “I think the fresh air has made me feel a bit dizzy. I won’t knock you over, I promise.” As if to prove the point, he puts his arm around you, pulling you in closely and gelling you to his side so that you both walk in sync with each other, preventing any further collisions. Feeling a burst of affection, you smile up at him happily as you walk, relieved to be able to forget about studying and college and just enjoy being with him.

After a couple more minutes, you realise that the human train, as you’ve now christened it, is turning into the doorway of a venue that you don’t recognise, and especially now that night is upon London and the streets are relatively dark, you can’t make out any identifying features on the building.

“What’s this place?” you ask Brian, but he shakes his head, clueless, John doing the same.

“I’m not sure,” John answers in Brian’s place, “but Freddie knows so many places to go, I tend not to question it anymore.” The corners of his mouth turn upwards into a grin as he says this, and you nod, understanding exactly what he means. Freddie is a force of nature, and most of the time, it’s best to just go with it! Following your friends into the venue, you find yourself heading up a flight of wooden stairs before arriving in a rather large room, the jukebox blaring as a throng of bodies sway to the music – it’s very lively in here, more enticing than the Marquee Club had been. Everyone else seems to agree, their faces lighting up at the volume of the music and the electricity in the air.

“Let’s get some more drinks!” Roger suggests, and there’s a collective cheer as the group heads over to the bar. Brian refuses any more alcohol, preferring not to get too drunk, which leads to him having to endure a slew of jokes at his expense for being a lightweight, though it’s all in good fun. A couple of drinks later, you’re starting to reach that nice level of tipsy that doesn’t take away your control, but makes everything feel a little more fluid and exciting. You’re just thinking that you’ve enjoyed your evening already when the current song playing on the jukebox fades away, a very familiar sound kicking in and rousing you to attention – Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Spanish Castle Magic’ has just come on, one of your favourite songs, and judging by the reactions of others in the group, you’re not the only one who loves it.

“Let’s go!” Harry yells exuberantly, practically throwing his pint down onto the table behind him, grabbing you by the wrist, and dragging you, ready or not, towards the dance floor. Giggling at his excitement and catching some of it yourself, you attempt to pull Brian along with you as you stumble backwards to keep up with Harry. However, Brian wrenches his arm out of your grasp, grinning and shaking his head in refusal, and you can’t deny that you hadn’t seen it coming; Brian has stated in the past that he hates the idea of dancing, embarrassed and unsure of what to do with himself, and prefers to be the one making the music rather than dancing to it. You’d laughed at how much of a ‘Brian’ answer it had been, so typical of his sheepish nature, and it looks as though you aren’t going to get him to relinquish it tonight either.

Turning away from him with a roll of your eyes, you grin as Dave and Roger appear by your side, evidently as eager for a good time as you and Harry are. The four of you reach the wall of bodies bordering the dance floor, slipping between them into a comfortable space, and without further ado, proceed to dance enthusiastically to the song. Just like on stage, but with a lot less care thanks to the alcohol, you let your limbs be swayed by the music, inhibitions gone to the wind, loving the feeling of letting go of everything and enjoying the moment. You feel a hand grasp yours, and looking up, you see that Harry has taken hold of it mid-dance, encouraging you to let him spin you around, and you do, the both of you giggling. As you continue to dance, free as birds, Roger also steps closer to you, taking your other hand, and the three of you twist and groove in a chain, your fingers interlocked. Roger then jumps slightly, obviously having been startled by something, and shifts over to see what’s behind him. The three of you instantly burst into raucous laughter as John comes dancing into view, moving like you’ve never seen him move before, pumping his arms back and forth and having a thoroughly good time – alcohol must be the secret that unleashes his extroverted side! Returning to your dancing, still chortling away, you feel as though you’re having the time of your life, and just when you think that nothing more will happen, Freddie suddenly enters your field of vision, having broken away from the group of boys he was dancing with.

“Ooh, you look so good in that leather!” he growls lasciviously, though you know that it’s only for play. “Let me at her!” Without warning, he dashes forwards, breaking the chain of linked hands, and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground. You scream in surprise, and after taking a moment to steady you over his shoulder, he begins to spin you around, causing the whole room to morph into a rushing blur in your eyes. Shrieking in both fear and laughter, you have no choice but to hold onto his back as he throws you around, your legs flailing out behind you like a rag doll. The noise of everybody’s laughter fills your ears, and then thankfully, Freddie stops spinning, placing you down gently and holding you close to him to prevent you from falling over. As you all giggle uncontrollably, the surrounding dancers having created a circle of space around you so as to avoid getting hit by your spinning legs, you lean into Freddie’s chest as you both regain your balance, the world slowly becoming still again.

“I think I made myself more dizzy than you!” Freddie slurs, apparently having drunk quite a bit more since arriving at this place, and you can’t help but laugh at him. It’s then that you realise that ‘Spanish Castle Magic’ isn’t playing anymore, having given way to a new song, and you wonder just how long Freddie had been spinning you. Feeling as though you want to be still for a little while, you share a smile with Freddie before fighting your way back through the crowd to be next to Brian again.

“Enjoying yourself?” he shoots with a grin, evidently having seen the spectacle from afar, and you laugh as you bury your head into his chest.

“Well, I don’t usually spend my evenings resembling a human Catherine wheel, so…” He chuckles at your remark, drawing you in closer and holding you there. Content to simply be together in silence for a moment, you remain in the embrace, feeling his body heat against your cheek as he strokes your hair. It feels really nice, but the longer you stand there, the more fidgety Brian seems to become, so you pull away to look questioningly at him.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m sorry for not dancing,” he responds seriously, and you bat his shoulder softly as if to knock the sentence away.

“Don’t be, it’s fine! I know you don’t like it.”

“Yeah,” he continues, looking a little disgruntled, “I just don’t like disappointing you.” You find yourself shaking your head incredulously at his words.

“Don’t be silly, Brian! Dancing isn’t that important. Do you really think, after all the wonderful times I’ve had with you, that I think you’re a disappointing boyfriend?” He averts his eyes, but the sheepish smile that he adopts suggests that he believes you. You lean up towards him, and he exhales a quiet laugh before kissing you softly. Having enjoyed a few drinks, celebrated with your best friends, and danced and messed around without a care in the world, you feel as though being close with Brian like this is a perfect addition to all of the fun you’ve had tonight. Brian seems to be enjoying the moment too, running a hand through your hair as you kiss. He then breaks away, looking as though he wants to say something, so you gaze up at him inquisitively.

“Do you, um – can we go out there for a minute?” He nods his head towards a door that’s currently being propped open by a box, looking as though it leads to a corridor of some kind.

“Okay,” you reply, nonplussed, but imagining that he simply wants a quieter space to talk to you about something in. You let him lead you across the room, away from the revellers, and through the door, which does indeed lead to a corridor, the toilets at the far end of it. The air is a little cooler out here, to your relief, less stuffy than the humidity generated by the mass of moving bodies. As you and Brian move along the corridor, you notice two sets of people a little way apart from each other, couples locked in loving embraces, and you can’t help but snigger quietly at the awkwardness of it, trying not to disturb them as they continue snogging in the dim light. Nevertheless, you follow as Brian takes you as far away from the couples as possible, trying to place the two of you between them so that they’re not close enough to be a distraction. Satisfied, he then turns to you with a look in his eyes that betrays a little insecurity, and you wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Did you want to talk about something?” He doesn’t answer straight away, taking a moment to collect himself without giving you an indication of his thoughts, but after a few seconds, he meets your eyes again. This time, his expression is steady, his eye contact unfaltering, and he almost has a smile on his face.

“No, I wanted to do something.” Before you can respond, he moves towards you, his arms going around you and pulling you closer to him, before leaning in to kiss you again. Caught off guard, you let it happen, surprised at his sudden boldness. His kisses keep coming, and you almost laugh as you try to prise yourself away for a second so that you can speak.

“Wh-what’s this about?” Brian looks down at you, sporting a wide grin now as he regards you, his eyes shining.

“I’m making up for not dancing.” You start to giggle, but before you can say anything to refute his logic, he speaks again. “You look wonderful tonight, and I know the party is about Queen, but-“ He cuts himself off for a second, and you see the look in his eyes grow more and more genuine as he beholds you. “-you deserve all of my attention.” Something about the way he says it makes butterflies swarm in your stomach, and you find yourself feeling so grateful for the way he seems to hold you in such high regard - it makes you feel special.

“And do I have your attention now?” you ask playfully, unable to control your smile. Brian’s teeth make an appearance as his own smile grows to match yours before he replies.

“Yes.” He murmurs the word against your lips, before kissing you again, and you allow yourself to melt into him, the feeling of him so comforting and exciting simultaneously. All previous awkwardness thoroughly forgotten about, you and Brian become the third pair of corridor canoodlers, holding each other tightly as you intertwine, kissing deeply. Brian seems to get more passionate with each second that passes, and you find yourself both surprised and impressed by his forwardness tonight – this isn’t like him. He breaks away from you for a moment, and you can see that he has another question in his eyes.

“You’re coming back to Sinclair Road tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, me and Harry,” you confirm, wondering why he’s brought the subject up. However, it quickly becomes quite obvious what Brian’s thinking from the way his gaze sweeps your figure repeatedly, drinking you in and looking as though he can’t get enough.

“Shall we go back there soon?” You have to stifle a laugh at his attempt to get his meaning across without being lewd and saying it outright – adorable.

“Don’t be shy, Brian,” you reply lowly, wanting him to open up, “tell me how you really feel.” He doesn’t respond to your suggestive request, instead kissing you again, before moving over to kiss your cheek, your ear, and finally, your neck, where the touch of his warm lips send a shiver down your spine.

“I like seeing you in those trousers…” he whispers into your ear, apparently encouraged by your words. You do still hear a touch of awkwardness in his voice, as if he’s not used to speaking so forwardly, but you appreciate that he’s allowing himself to stop hiding his lascivious thoughts, little by little. “…but I’d like to see you out of them.”

Despite the fact that his voice is soft, the words themselves hit hard enough to cause arousal to start pooling hotly within you, and you pull his face away from your ear to kiss him again. The two of you take the corridor canoodling to a new height in your passion, backing up until you’re pressed between Brian and the wall, and Brian’s hands slide slowly down your back, passing over the leather that meets his skin and squeezing your backside tantalisingly. Breaking away from the kiss, you giddily admit to yourself that you want to go back to Sinclair Road just as much as Brian does.

“Shall we go?” Brian nods fervently, his eyes fixed upon your mouth, as if he can’t stop thinking about kissing you. Kicked into action, the pair of you stumble back into the noise and light of the main room, making your way hand in hand towards the stairs. On the way, you spot Mary close by, and get her attention, letting her know that you and Brian are heading home and asking her to let everybody else know, especially your brother. She agrees with a smile, and you thank her gratefully before catching up with Brian. The two of you descend the stairs clumsily, slinking around the people going up to the venue, and burst out into the cold of the street. Rejoining your hands, you set off towards Sinclair Road, at a normal pace at first, but the longer you walk, the more you realise that your pace has quickened considerably. The frigid air has something to do with it, but as the pair of you glance sideways at each other, realising your speed, the look you give each other confirms that it’s mainly because you can’t wait to go to bed. Communicating the thought with your eyes, both of you begin to laugh raggedly, your breath coming out in hot plumes of cloud that stream out behind you as you walk, and looking happily up at Brian, you feel an excited sense of wholeness, as if everything is just perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S... did you enjoy Disco Deaky? ;-)


	19. Oh, You Know I'm Going Crazy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After celebrating Queen's signing with a great night out, you're thrust back into the boring world of study and lectures, and you have to admit - it's not fun at all. What you need is a stress relieving afternoon, and luckily for you, Freddie and Roger have got your back. Not only that, but the day ends with an excited phone call from Brian, who bears some even more exciting news!

The familiar hallway, having seemed rather dim in the greyness of Winter, has a subtle cheerfulness to it today; though the air is still crisp, Spring is beginning to arrive at last, blessing dreary old London with a few rays of sun. Striding towards the foyer, you attempt to use this little shred of brightness to boost your mood, but unfortunately, it doesn’t quite work – you are still at college, after all, and no matter how rosy the sun might makes things look, it’s not enough to make your work seem any more interesting! Falling into step with the other students congregating up ahead, you crane your neck to see if Harry is around. After a moment, you spot him leaning against the wall near the entrance to the sandwich bar, looking nonchalant as always, and you make your way over, fighting against the throng of people between you.

“Ready?” He starts slightly as you address him, having evidently not noticed you arriving.

“Always!” The two of you share a grin and head into the bar, choosing your lunch and finding seats after a minute of casting around. “Brian coming?” Harry asks, ripping open a chocolate bar and stuffing it into his mouth.

“Should be,” you reply with a nod, casting a longing glance towards the entrance before tucking into your own food. “He said he would on the phone last night.”

Things have been a little busier than usual over the last couple of weeks; for you and Harry, exam revision and band practise have continued as usual, but for Queen, their days have been peppered with label meetings, important phone calls, and a few events that Brian has promised to tell you about at lunch today. It’s all incredibly exciting, and you’re still in slight disbelief that things are moving forwards so suddenly for them, but it has meant that you’ve seen slightly less of the Queen boys that you’d have liked. To make the most of the time not spent at other people’s houses, you’ve attempted to really get your head down with revision, and while it started to work at first, you’re feeling a little burnt out by now. The last couple of days have been quite a slog, tired of trying to memorise the same things over and over, and you can’t wait to take a break.

You and Harry sit and eat in near silence for a few minutes, content to relax together without chatting, until your wish for Brian to walk through the door is answered; he shoots you a warm smile as he approaches, and the fact that you haven’t seen him many times during the last two weeks makes everything about him seem more endearing than usual – the familiar mass of his hair, the knitted stripes of his rather uncool jumper, and the way you can tell that he’s just been outside, due to the slight blush of pink at the end of his nose. Your smile grows so wide, you worry that it’s about to pop clean off your face, and embarrassed, you hide it behind your hands momentarily, despairing at how easily he can get to you by not even doing anything in particular. After he gets his lunch, he joins you and Harry at the table, taking the seat next to you.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he says, glancing between the both of you, “I had to return quite a few books at the library.”

“That’s alright, mate,” Harry replies with a carefree shrug, and Brian swivels in his seat to look at you softly.

“Hello, my love,” he greets shyly, looking as pleased to see you as you are to see him, as his arm comes around your shoulders. Your chest swelling with happiness, you lean into him as he kisses you briefly, and if you hadn’t been in public, you might not have let him go. Resolving to be decent, you settle back into your seat.

“So, what have you and the boys been up to, then?” Harry asks straight away, evidently hungry for information, and an enthusiastic glimmer appears in Brian’s eyes as he answers.

“Well, quite a few things, but I suppose the most important one – or most exciting one, I should say – is that we’ve agreed on the first single from the album.” Both you and Harry stop mid-chew to gawk excitedly at each other, returning your gazes to Brian simultaneously.

“Thas sho cool!” Harry emits enthusiastically through a mouthful of sandwich, oblivious to his bad manners. “What’s it gonna be?”

“I’m quite surprised at this, to be honest,” Brian begins, his expression suggesting both bemusement and satisfaction, “but they’ve actually agreed to use two of my songs, for the A side and the B side.” You find yourself bursting with pride for him, glad that his talents are being recognised. “It’s going to be ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ as the A side, and ‘Son And Daughter’ as the B side.”

“Really?” you exclaim more loudly than you’d intended. “That’s brilliant, Brian! I’m so pleased for you.” You can’t help but draw him in for a hug, and he giggles quietly as he moves to return it.

“Well done, mate,” Harry says honestly, smiling and nodding in approval. “Do you know when it’s coming out?” Brian’s curls bounce as he shakes his head.

“Unfortunately not yet,” he concedes, “but I can’t imagine it’ll be too long before they’ve finalised it. We’ve also done a photo shoot for the back of the album cover.”

“Ooh, what did it look like?”

“We actually shot it at Freddie and Mary’s flat,” he informs with a grin. “I’m not sure how professional it looked, exactly… we were all just wearing our normal clothes, and Freddie gave us all these props to use – I’m pretty sure they got a picture of him cuddling a teddy bear at one point!” You and Harry both break into giggles at the idea, picturing it in your heads.

“I’d have thought they’d take you to a studio, or something,” Harry says, still grinning, and Brian shrugs in response.

“Well, so did we, but I think they wanted to do it as cheaply as possible,” he laughs.

“Let’s hope that that’s not a sign of things to come!” you say with a mock-worried tone, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“No, I think they’re alright. It’s just early days.” The conversation runs dry for a moment, mostly due to the three of you all having separate yet similar fantasies in your minds about the album release and what it may entail, until Harry breaks the silence.

“What do you reckon’s next, then? Doing any interviews?” The words seem to spark something in Brian’s head.

“Oh, yeah, we did a little press thing, very small really. We were given some questions about ourselves, and wrote our answers down to be sent off, not a face to face interview. Loads of generic things, like ‘what’s your favourite food?’ and all that.” The three of you chuckle, finding the nature of the ‘interview’ a little cringe-worthy.

“Didn’t they ask you about your music?” you ask, but Brian’s eyebrows arch in amusement as he shakes his head for a third time.

“No! They were just really interested in how tall I am, apparently!” This causes a fresh bout of laughter to hit the air.

“Reminds me of those letters people used to send in to The Beatles’ fan club,” Harry jokes, “where they’d ask ridiculously mundane things like ‘where does Paul buy his shirts?’, or ‘I want to invite George round for tea – how does he like his steak cooked?’.”

“Yes!” you exclaim loudly, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “They used to publish them in the Beatles Book Monthly and answer them!”

“You’re gonna be getting that soon,” Harry tells Brian with a grin, putting on a ridiculous high-pitched voice. “’My name’s Marjory, from Hartlepool, and I just HAVE to know what kind of pyjamas Brian wears to bed!”’ Brian chortles merrily, throwing his head back and slapping his thigh in amusement, and you can’t help but join in, happy to see him so relaxed.

The three of you continue to laugh and joke, finishing off your lunches and enjoying the freedom of not having to focus on work for an hour. Unfortunately though, it can’t last forever, and soon enough, you’re making your way reluctantly back towards the hallway, wishing in futility that the rest of the day could be as fun as lunch was.

“Let me know if you have any free time, if you want to get together,” you ask Brian, and he nods, looking slightly regretful that you haven’t been able to just relax together as much recently.

“I will,” he soothes, rubbing your back gently, and feeling a little consoled, you know that he’ll make time somewhere. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” Nodding, you kiss him goodbye, watching him fondly as he and Harry shake hands, and with another smile that warms you from head to toe, he sets off down the hallway to continue working on his thesis. Internally laughing at yourself, you realise that you miss him already.

“Right, biology time, then?” Harry asks, looking almost as unenthusiastic as you are, and you exhale an exasperated sigh before replying.

“Yep – I suppose so.”

__

Cell division, chromosomes, homeostasis… nope, it’s still not working. Frustrated and tired, you flop backwards onto your bed, letting the biology book you’d been flipping through fall out of your hand; you and Harry have been home from college for a while, and your motivation to study is possibly even more non-existent than it had been after lunch. It’s all starting to get a bit much, and just as you’re praying to the universe for a distraction – anything else to do – a timid knock comes on your bedroom door.

“Sis?” Harry’s voice is quiet for a change, probably out of fear of disturbing you, if you’d been in the middle of something. However, you couldn’t be more pleased for something other than biology to concentrate on.

“Yeah? Come in.” He does so, stepping around the door, and you can see that his guitar is hanging from his shoulder casually.

“I was wondering if we could practise a bit,” he says hopefully, lifting his guitar slightly for emphasis, and you can’t help but let out a sigh.

“I’d love to, Harry,” you say earnestly, “in fact, I think you read my mind! But mum’s downstairs, isn’t she?” Harry’s eyes impulsively slide in the direction of the stairs, looking wary.

“Too risky?” he asks, and as much as you don’t want to agree, you know for a fact that the sound of two guitars twanging away, accompanied by two voices, will definitely be audible from the living room, no matter how hard you try to be quiet. You shoot him a despairing look, and he nods, knowing exactly what you’re thinking, shifting his weight back and forth in a fidgety manner. For all Harry’s impatience, you can completely empathise with him this time – your mother’s insistence on banning pretty much all hobbies and social outings is getting very old very quickly, and while there are times that you can slip under the radar, the majority of your days are being spent very much under the thumb. Your own bedroom is starting to feel a bit like a straight-jacket, and you’re sure Harry feels the same.

“You’re probably right,” he concedes gloomily. “Do you wanna go through some biology stuff, then?” He exhales a laugh at the withering look you shoot him.

“Not exactly,” you groan with a half-smile on your face, “but I suppose we can’t really do anything else. Go on, then.” Hoping that having someone to work with might make things run a little more smoothly, you retrieve your discarded book and collect up the others that are currently in a pile on your desk as Harry goes back to his room to put his guitar away. When he returns, you shuffle back on the bed so that he can sit opposite you, and the pair of you attempt to test each other on the things you’d been trying to memorise. You manage to get through ten minutes of laborious study before time really begins to drag.

“Okay,” Harry muses, consulting the book in his hands, “what is the endocrine system?”

“It’s a chemical system that releases hormones,” you reply, correct, but entirely disinterested.

“And can you name the five things that hormones can consist of?” You take a moment to wade through the mire of information in your mind, a lot of which is seeming to blur into a giant, indiscernible blob.

“Amino acid complexes,” you begin, “steroids, leukotrienes, prostaglandins…” Harry looks at you expectantly as you trail off, waiting for your fifth answer, but due to the mental block you’re having, it doesn’t arrive.

“Ugh, I can’t remember,” you groan, admitting defeat.

“It’s eicosanoids,” he states with a look that suggests that he couldn’t care less, and you quite agree, though mentally chastise yourself for forgetting the information that now seems very familiar.

“Oh, for god’s sake, I knew that.” Harry sighs heavily, and the room grows near silent as the pair of you sink in your seats.

“This is rubbish, sis.”

“I know,” you lament, giving in to laziness and laying down on the pillows behind you. What does strike you, above the disdain that you’re both feeling for your work right now, is how dedicated Harry is; he’s definitely not a model student, and certainly cares a lot less about qualifications than you do, but you’d really expected him to be more flippant about all of this, and yet here he is, trying to study with you despite hating the situation. You feel a little flicker of fondness ignite within you, the tiniest of lights to brighten your mood, and you slide your hand across the bed to grasp his wrist.

“It’s really crap, but we’ll get through it. Only a month and a half to go, and then we’ll be done with all this, and we can play gigs every bloody night, if we want to.” Though your new position on the bed blocks your view of Harry, you hear him snort in amusement, and though he doesn’t respond with words, he twists his hand to grab your wrist in return. After a few moments of silence, the two of you are startled slightly by the shrill ring of the phone from downstairs, and listen as your mother gets up to answer it.

“Maybe we should run away,” Harry says wistfully, and you laugh, knowing it’s a joke.

“Yeah, let’s grab our instruments and go and stand out on the motorway – I’m sure some raving lunatic will pick us up.” The two of you chuckle for a moment, and then you become aware that it sounds as though your mother is coming upstairs. Wanting to look studious in case she enters the room, you pull yourself upright, letting go of Harry to pick up the nearest book, and he follows suit, looking down at the one already in his hand and beginning to read a random paragraph aloud. Your intuition had been right, as your mother knocks on the door, not waiting for a reply before popping her head around it.

“Oh, you two look busy,” she says, seeming pleased, and you both nod seriously. “Glad to see it! There’s a phone call for you,” she informs, glancing at you, “Freddie.” You have to exert considerable force as you try to tone down your relieved expression, so glad that you can leave the horror of biology behind for at least a little while.

“Okay,” you reply, sliding off the bed, and she opens the door fully to let you pass.

“You look very tired,” she says to Harry, and he nods genuinely, yawning as he stretches. “I think you’ve done enough for today – get an early night.”

“Thanks, mum,” you hear him reply as you reach the top of the stairs, and you have to stifle a laugh as you imagine him pumping his fists in victory the second she leaves the room. Glad to be excused from the work, you take a seat by the phone and lift the receiver to your ear.

“Freddie?”

“Hello, darling!” he sings, chirpy as ever. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, I’ve never been more happy to hear your voice in my life, Fred!” you joke, genuinely grateful to be away from biology.

“Well, you’re in luck, because I just fancied a chat!” he replies sweetly. “What have you been up to?” You almost put your head in your hands at the mere thought of how unmotivated you’ve felt today.

“Honestly, just work, and work, and more work. I think I’m going insane.”

“Oh, we can’t have that, can we?” he croons sympathetically. “You need a day off, darling. We should meet up sometime soon – I’ve got something funny to show you.” You wonder what he could be referring to, nonplussed.

“I’d love to, but things are a bit difficult at the moment, especially because you lot are so busy – not that I’d change that for the world, though.” A small smile spreads across your face as you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that Queen are now a signed band, and that they’re currently working their way to stardom – you hope.

“It’s all very exciting, isn’t it?” Freddie responds, sounding thoroughly pleased. “When our record comes out, I’m going to go into every music shop and demand that they put it in the window for everyone to see!” You laugh quietly at Freddie’s silliness, though a wave of fatigue comes over you at the same time, making it seem like a great effort to muster any kind of response. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You do seem very tired,” Freddie notes, sounding concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, Fred, I’ve just had it up to here with biology. I’m really stressed out right now.” You hear Freddie tut through the phone.

“I tell you what,” he says, his tone of voice turning softer, “you know Roger and I run our stall at the market most days, when we’ve not got meetings on – come and see us. I’ll give you a ring in advance if we’re not going to be there, but otherwise, any time this week, if you need a breather, just pop in, and we’ll cheer you up. You can’t have your head stuck in biology books all the time – otherwise, how is Brian supposed to kiss you?” You can practically see his flamboyant gesticulations as he speaks, and you giggle, more energetically this time. Freddie is a great friend, always looking out for you.

“Good point,” you reply, and he exhales a small laugh. “I don’t know, I suppose I could see if I can get away one day, but I’m not sure.” As much as you’d love to take him up on the offer, your college days tend to see you so busy that you probably wouldn’t be able to go all the way to Kensington Market and back. “Thanks though, Freddie,” you add honestly, grateful for his care.

“I’m always here for you, my little sugar plum,” he says in a sing-song voice, and his tone carries the hug you know would be happening right now, if the two of you were together. It causes a little flutter of happiness to rise in your chest.

“And you, Freddie.”

“I think you’d better get some sleep,” he remarks. “Get some rest, and wake up wide-eyed and dandy in the morning!”

“I’m not sure I’ll manage that,” you laugh, “but I’ll do my best!” The two of you take a little while to end the phone call, goodbye-ing back and forth and getting sillier each time, until you finally hang up, agreeing that going to bed is exactly what you want to do.

__

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The old clock at the far end of the lecture hall isn’t usually this loud, but perhaps due to your boredom, your mind is focusing in on it more acutely than ever; you’re currently slouched in your chair, thoroughly regretting attending this voluntary lecture. You’d agreed in an attempt to keep up your recent studious ways, but now that you’re here, you realise that Freddie had been right on the phone the other day – you do need a break. You don’t even have Harry here for company, as he’d practically laughed in your face when you’d suggested he come with you, and to be honest, you should have skipped it too, if for no other reason than to save your sanity. Stretching your limbs in what you hope is a subtle manner, you continue the agonising wait until the lecture is over.

The second the class is excused, you practically jump out of your seat, heading towards the sandwich bar with gusto – at least the next hour is yours to do whatever you wish with. Slipping between the other students in the hallways, you enter the bar and join the line to buy your lunch. As you shuffle along, waiting for your turn to order, you wonder fleetingly if Brian will be around; you hadn’t heard from him yesterday, so arranging another lunchtime meet-up was off the cards. Assuming he was just busy with Queen things, you’d let him be, resolving to talk to him another time, but now that you’re on your lunch break alone, chatting with Brian for an hour would really make you feel better.

After you get your lunch, you take a seat and keep an eye on the entrance to the bar as you eat, just in case Brian does appear. However, after eating almost all of your sandwich and biting into your apple with no sign of him, it becomes apparent that he’s probably not going to show – you’re on your own today. A pang of disappointment weighing you down, you take another mouthful of apple before remembering something you’d heard not too long ago, in Freddie’s caring tone of voice:

‘Just pop in, and we’ll cheer you up.’

His offer filling your mind for the first time since he’d made it, you have to admit that you do feel a sudden longing to be with Freddie and Roger at Kensington Market, messing around with the tatty clothes they’re always attempting to sell, and having a laugh. At first, you brush the thought away in the name of all things sensible, but the longer you sit there, chewing half-heartedly and feeling your motivation plummet even further into the depths of nothingness, the more you want to act on it. Taking a deep breath, you give your studious side one last chance to put up a fight, but alas, it fails, and you find yourself standing up, gulping down the last of your drink and heading out of the sandwich bar. Without glancing back towards the lecture halls, you press onward towards the main doors, feeling like a fugitive on the run, and exit out into the cool Spring air – this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve skipped out of college early recently, and stifling a giggle, you concede that it probably won’t be the last, either.

It actually takes less time to walk to Kensington Market than you’d initially thought for when Freddie had mentioned it to you on the phone, and after almost 15 minutes, you reach the familiar three storey building, making your way straight up to the third floor. As you climb the stairs, a disarming thought pops into your head – you hope they’re there. You’re going to look like a right idiot if the boys were away at a meeting, Freddie having forgotten to tell you. However, the idea is quickly quelled when you turn the corner into the main room and spy the pair of them, right where you’d hoped they’d be; Roger is pulling some new garments out of a bag and piling them onto the table, while Freddie arranges them neatly for display. The sight causes a smile to immediately burst onto your face, incredibly pleased to see them. You waste no time, striding quickly up to their stall, though they don’t notice you approaching, occupied with the clothes.

“Need some help?” Both boys jerk upright in alarm at your voice, bursting into laughter and smiles when they realise that it’s you.

“What a nice surprise!” Roger exclaims, shuffling through the narrow gap between the tables to give you a hug, and Freddie follows suit quickly, embracing you and warming your cheek with a little kiss.

“Is this you taking a break?” he asks with a knowing smile, and you nod in laughter.

“I couldn’t stand it anymore,” you admit. “If I had to think about bacteria any longer, I might have gone mad!”

“Well, take a seat with us, darling,” Freddie instructs, patting a wooden stool next to him. “You can forget about all of that tripe for now!” Finally feeling yourself relax properly, casting your responsibilities aside for now, you do as he says, discarding your bag onto the floor and perching upon the stool. The boys momentarily go back to putting out their new stock, but it doesn’t take long, having already done most of it before you’d arrived. When they sit back and relax alongside you, Roger sits on a second stool to your left, while Freddie remains standing.

“Did I steal your seat, Freddie?” you ask, but he wafts your concern away with the wave of a hand, as though shooing away a fly.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he insists, “I’m perfectly fine here.” He shoots you a chipper smile, and you return it, noting just how generous he really is. Before you can thank him, he springs to life again, seeming to remember something.

“Oh! Now you’re here, I can show you that thing I mentioned on the phone the other night.” He turns towards the back of the stall, picking up his jacket, and you recall him saying that he had something funny to show you, though you can’t imagine what it is. When he turns back, he hands you a piece of paper he’d procured from one of his jacket pockets. “We did an interview for a magazine,” he informs, looking pleased with himself. “We had to write all of our answers down.”

“Oh, Brian told me about that the other day,” you reply, the conversation still fresh in your mind.

“Well,” Freddie continues, looking somewhat cantankerous, “I can tell you now, his answers were nowhere near as good as mine! I copied them down for you to see – go on, have a look.” A little bemused, you spread open the folded piece of paper to see the questions and answers jotted down in Freddie’s familiar font, and as you begin to read, your amusement grows with every answer.

“Did you actually submit this?” you ask incredulously, and burst out laughing when he nods, spreading his arms in a wide, ‘I don’t care’ shrug.

“Why, what did you put?” Roger asks, looking confused as he leans towards you to get a better look at the paper. You take it upon yourself to read out some of the more silly answers.

“It says here, when asked what his favourite drink is, he’s put ‘champagne in a glass slipper’.” Roger snorts loudly, grinning and nodding as though it sounds like a perfectly reasonable answer for someone like Freddie. “And this one -” you continue, “-‘what is your dream in life?’. He’s put ‘to remain the divine, lush creature that I am’!” You begin giggling at Freddie’s sense of humour, and Roger shoots him a look as he continues to grin. “And this one might be the best – ‘what are your secret talents?’”

“Oh, god, I dread to think what this one is,” Roger groans, fully expecting something ridiculous, and the answer doesn’t disappoint.

“’Posing and poofery!’” All three of you descend into giggles at this point, even Freddie, laughing at his own jokes.

“Well, you know,” he mumbles through his chuckles, “we are called Queen – I’ve got to play up to it!” It takes a minute for you all to settle down, thoroughly entertained, and feeling a rush of fondness for the two of them, you make your gratitude known.

“By the way, thanks for letting me hang out. I really needed cheering up.” Roger’s arm comes around your shoulders, and you lean into him happily.

“Don’t be daft,” he scolds jokingly, “you can come here any time you want, as long as we’re here.”

“Yes, and if you fancy a different place to escape to, you can always visit Mary and me,” Freddie chimes in. “That is, when you’re not snuggled up with Brian.” He shoots you an over-exaggerated, suggestive look, cocking an eyebrow, and you and Roger giggle.

“Yeah,” you join in, referencing Freddie’s previous statement, “I’ll try to take my head out of my books and put it somewhere else.” The three of you cackle lewdly, having entirely forgotten that potential customers are passing you by due to your lack of attention to the stall, but thoroughly enjoying yourselves nonetheless – skipping college had been a good move.

__

After successfully lying to your mother about the productive college day you’d had, your evening had progressed in a similar fashion to yesterday – dinner, chatting, and a little revision. However, unlike yesterday, you feel as though your energy has been somewhat renewed by your afternoon with Freddie and Roger, and grateful for feeling a little more relaxed, you’re flipping through your biology books with less reluctance. However, today seems to be your lucky day, as the familiar ring of the phone cuts through the air, followed shortly by Harry’s voice yelling up the stairs to you.

“Sis! Brian’s on the phone!” Happy to be able to talk to him at last, you ditch your books to answer his call, taking the phone from him with a grateful smile.

“Hi Brian!”

“Hello, love, how are you?” His voice comes so warm and gentle in your ear, you think it might be the best sound in the world.

“I’m alright,” you reply, “better than this morning.” You’re about to fill him in on your day, but surprisingly, he speaks again quickly.

“Has Freddie told you already?”

“What, about his champagne in the glass slipper?” you ask, and Brian’s tone of voice instantly grows very puzzled.

“His what?”

“Nothing,” you reply through a giggle, amused by the fact that Brian evidently has no idea about Freddie’s interview answers. “What’s going on?”

“We just got a call from Trident earlier, on behalf of EMI.” The words cause you to abandon your laughter and pay attention – it must be important. “The album’s going to be coming out on the 9th.” It takes a moment for the news to sink in, but once you regain your composure, you rush to get your words out.

“Brian, that’s – that’s next week!”

“I know!” You can hear the excitement in his voice, and you can’t help but share it immensely – things are moving so fast all of a sudden. “They’ve organised a gig at the Marquee Club the same night to promote it. I think they’re inviting some EMI personnel to come and see us.”

“Brian, this is so cool! It’s all happening so suddenly, but I’m so excited for you!” He chuckles down the phone, and your chest swells with pride for him and the boys. “What day of the week is that?” you ask as an afterthought, hoping to God that it’s on a weekend, when you don’t have to be quite as rigorous with your study schedule.

“It’s a Monday,” Brian replies, and you exhale a sigh, disappointed.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to come round to Sinclair Road for another of Professor Taylor’s lessons about electrons,” you whisper with a grin, hiding the plan from the ears of your mother, and Brian laughs heartily.

“I’m sure that can be arranged! Actually, I can give you a lecture on them right now.” Judging by Brian’s tone of voice, you sense a joke coming up. “Number one fact about electrons – they’re in physics, not biology.” You have to stifle another bout of giggles, loving the fact that you can all tease Roger about the moment again and again without it ever becoming tiresome.

“Thanks for that, Professor May,” you jest, “your class makes a lot more sense than Professor Taylor’s. I’ll listen to you from now on!”

The two of you continue to chat and giggle for a while, but the conversation repeatedly loops back to how excited you both are about Queen’s imminent album release; the news, though sudden, is something that you can’t value highly enough, considering how long Queen have been waiting for an opportunity like this. Ever since you’d been told about the album they’d worked to create that had never seen the light of day, you’d felt so sorry for them, understanding how awful it must feel to have put all that work in, only to essentially gain nothing from it. It’s almost too exciting to think that their music is finally getting a chance to shine, and next week, at that! While the future is uncertain, something that you do know for sure is that Queen deserve the attention of the whole of London, at the very least, and on April 9th, all eyes and ears will be on them.


	20. Working Night And Day To Make A Dream Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you wait impatiently for Queen's album launch, you're surprised by a series of phone calls that just won't let you get on with your evening! There's not so great news on the horizon, but it's quickly followed by a wonderful experience that lets you see first hand just how dedicated Brian is to his music, and reinforces how much you truly respect him as a musician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! Thanks for being patient. As things stand now, I think I'll be able to put out roughly a chapter a month, or maybe slightly more frequently than that. I hope that's okay with everyone, and that you continue to enjoy the story! I have so much more planned, it's unreal!

The kettle sings its high-pitched whistle as you pick it up, filling your mug almost to the brim. Despite the fact that dinner hadn’t been too long ago, you quite fancy a cup of tea. As you stir in the milk, contemplating the now light brown liquid absent-mindedly, you find yourself almost jumping out of your skin when the phone rings shrilly, jarring you from your peaceful moment. Plonking the spoon into the mug haphazardly, you cross the kitchen and enter the living room to answer it, laughing internally at how your heart is thumping slightly with the shock.

“Hello?”

“Can you BELIEVE the incompetence of some people?!” You’re already a bit dazed from the phone making you jump so much, so this sudden exclamation, without any form of greeting before it, confuses you even more. The only thing that you can be certain about is that the voice on the other end of the phone is unmistakably Freddie’s.

“Fred?”

“I mean, come on,” he wails indignantly, seeming to already be in the middle of a rant about something before you’d even picked up the phone. It’s a good job that your mother hadn’t answered instead of you. “Get this, right – our album release show is on Monday, correct?”

“Yeah,” you reply, relieved that Freddie’s actually going to inform you what he’s upset about.

“Well, not any more!” he proclaims huffily. “EMI have only gone and told us that they can’t get the album out in time!” Hearing this only causes your worry to heighten, surprised at the sudden news – everything had been going so well.

“What? Why?”

“Apparently they can’t be trusted to do something as simple as organise an album release, even after the damn thing’s already been fully recorded and mixed, the cover shot and everything,” Freddie replies, his tone haughty and high with irritation. “Not even the single’s ready. So they’re postponing them both until a later date – god knows when that’ll be – but guess what? Here’s the kicker!” You get the distinct feeling that if Freddie’s voice gets any louder, you’re going to have to start holding the phone away from your ear.

“Go on?”

“They’re insisting that we do the release gig on Monday anyway!” he says incredulously, and you can practically see him gesticulating madly in your mind’s eye. “So we’ll be playing an album launch with no bloody album!” Despite Fred’s dramatics, you instantly feel a jot of bemusement at his words – that does seem like a bizarre choice for EMI to insist upon.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you reply, letting your reaction spill out of your mouth exactly as you’d thought it. “Why wouldn’t they just let you postpone the gig to line up with the album?”

“Exactly!” Freddie chirps loudly, and as you’d predicted, you find yourself tilting the receiver further away from your ear. “I think it’s because they’ve already been promoting it as an album launch, but still – you’d think they’d have the decency to own up to their mistakes and let us rearrange it. I mean, honestly – who plays an album launch with no album? We’re going to be made to look like a right bunch of fools!”

You allow Freddie to continue venting for a while longer, sitting there, barely able to get a word in edge-ways while he offloads his exasperation; despite the fact that he’s potentially erupting a little too much over the situation, you understand his need to get it off his chest, and eventually, your patience pays off. Freddie’s tirade ends almost as suddenly as it had started, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

“Sorry dear,” he says, the softness of his usual tone returning, “I just had to have a little rant about it.” A shock of amusement sweeps through you at his major understatement.

“Little?”

“Oh, shush,” he shoots back, the pair of you giggling. “Am I not right in saying that this is absolute and utter bullshittery?” An extra unexpected laugh comes barrelling out of you at his choice of words.

“No, you’re right,” you concede with a grin, “it is. Are you actually still doing it, then?”

“Yes, I think so,” he muses. “The boys still want to do it anyway, just as a promotion thing. It really doesn’t make sense to call it an album launch, but you know-“ You can almost feel the over-exaggerated shrug you’re so familiar with happening down the phone. “-whatever. At this point, it’s good to do anything, and I suppose if we do well, then EMI might hurry up and get their arses in gear!”

Exhaling a laugh, you do feel relieved that there’s still going to be a Queen concert in the near future, as you and your bandmates had been so excited about going down to show your support at such a monumental occasion. Of course, there’s not exactly anything monumental about it now, but it’ll still be a Queen concert, and that’s always worth something. Anything that’ll bring them out of their self-imposed temporary live scene retirement is alright by you. The two of you resolve to forget about it for now, chatting about this and that for a little while, before Freddie finally lets you go. Not that you hadn’t been enjoying the conversation, of course, but the sudden thought of your abandoned cup of tea sitting on the kitchen counter pops up in your mind, and you’re eager to get back to it, hoping that it’s still just about warm enough to enjoy.

“Alright darling,” Freddie croons, his earlier bad mood seeming completely forgotten about, “talk to you later!”

“Bye Fred!” Hanging up the phone with a smile, you untangle yourself from your seated position and make your way back across the room. Hopefully, the tea won’t be too col-

The phone rings again. Stopping in your tracks in disbelief, you shake your head and march back over to it, resolving to give Freddie a joking yet firm piece of your mind if it’s him again.

“Hello?” This time, you aren’t greeting by outraged yelling. In fact, the voice on the other end is gentle, a little timid, and oh so familiar.

“Hello, love, it’s me. Are you alright?” Your whole body relaxes at the comforting sound of Brian’s words, and you start to laugh at how snappily you’d answered the phone to him.

“Oh, Brian, yes, don’t mind me,” you reply with a giggle. “I’ve just been on the phone with Freddie for I don’t know how long, but we literally just finished. I thought he was ringing again just to annoy me!” Brian breathes a little laugh down the phone.

“Ah, is that why I couldn’t get through? I did try to ring you a couple of times, but it was engaged.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you reply, feeling bad that he’d been thoroughly butted out by Freddie’s need to vent. “He was telling me all about the delay with the album.” The irritated noise Brian makes in reply tells you that, while he’s not about to explode into a dramatic speech, he’s probably just about as annoyed as Freddie is.

“Yeah, that was a real disappointment,” he grumbles. “Just when we thought everything was going smoothly.”

“Is it really EMI’s fault?” you ask, hoping to learn more about the situation. “Why isn’t the album ready? You’ve already had it recorded for god knows how long.”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly what’s going on,” he replies, “but I think they either underestimated how long it would take to go through all the publishing details, or something’s come up. Whatever it is, they don’t think it’ll delay us for too long, though.” At least that’s a slight relief to hear.

“Fair enough,” you muse, nodding. “Freddie says you’re all still in favour of playing the gig – except him. He made that abundantly clear,” you add with a hint of amusement in your voice, and it connects with him as he chuckles.

“Yeah, well, I can imagine,” he says through a laugh. “I think we might as well do it anyway. It’s been advertised quite extensively, so we’re bound to have a good turnout. Anyway, enough about that – I was ringing to ask you something.” His tone becomes more quiet and intimate as he changes the subject, and you feel yourself growing instantly curious.

“Oh? Go on?”

“Are you free on Saturday? It doesn’t have to be too long, just a few hours in the afternoon.” Intrigued, you wonder what this mystery invite will entail.

“Well, mum’s actually out on Saturday,” you reply, running through the weekend’s anticipated events in your mind, “so we’re having a band practise at noon. I’ll be free from 1 o’clock, though, if that’s any good?”

“That’s fine,” he confirms, sounding a little more cheerful. “Would you be able to come to Trident after practise?”

“Trident?” Why would he invite you there? You’d been imagining some sort of coffee shop date, or something similar. “What’s this about?” His voice grows rich with fondness as he replies.

“I want you to hear something,” he murmurs, “before anyone else does. Freddie and that lot have already heard it, of course, but outside the band, I want you to be the first to hear it.” You’re caught off guard by the statement, feeling somewhat touched that Brian would want to show you something he’s created before it reached public ears. That hadn’t been the case with ‘White Queen’, even though it had been about you, although considering the fact, it’s probably the exact reason he’d wanted to keep it under wraps until the last minute. The memory of hearing it that night forming in your mind, you find yourself having to suppress the swell of affection that wells up within you before it causes you to make an embarrassing noise.

“Really? Have you been recording?”

“It was a bit of a secret,” he admits through a giggle, “but it’s almost finished now. I’m going in on Saturday to do some final overdubs. It’s an instrumental piece I’ve done myself.” The exciting news causes your stomach to fizz tangibly.

“Brian, that’s great!” you emit enthusiastically. “I didn’t realise you’d started recording again! I remember you’d said the four of you were going to start writing more songs a while ago.”

“Yes, we’ve written quite a few, actually. The only reason this one’s been done so early is because we’d like to use it as our introduction music for the show on Monday. It only needs some finishing touches.”

“That’s so exciting! I’d love to get a sneak preview!” Brian chuckles melodically at your enthusiasm.

“Well, if you come down to Trident on Saturday after you’re finished with practise, I’ll already be there, so I’ll meet you in the lobby. Do you remember where it is?” Replaying your single previous journey to Trident Sound Studio, you easily recall its proximity to Wardour Street, a place that you, your bandmates and the Queen boys all frequent on a somewhat regular basis.

“Yeah, I’ll be able to find it okay. Thanks for asking me, Brian,” you add happily, and he makes a warm, contented sound down the phone in reply.

“I’d like you to be there.” The two of you, enamoured with the sweet moment, continue to murmur sweet nothings at each other, until Brian decides to let you get on with your evening, as between his call and Freddie’s, you’ve been on the phone for quite sometime now. After saying goodnight, somewhat reluctant to end the fond conversation, you replace the receiver and head for the kitchen for a second time, towards what you already know is going to be a very, very cold cup of tea.

__

The air is a little cool as you stride down Wardour Street, but the excitement you’re feeling means that you don’t really notice; you’re really intrigued to see what Brian has to show you, and by the sounds of it, he’s going to be recording some parts too, albeit very small overdubs. It’s still so exciting to you, considering that not too long ago, you’d only just heard that Queen were even involved with Trident, the news of their already recorded album positively thrilling. Now, knowing that they’re a fully signed act and beginning to record new work before the album’s even been released, you’re filled with even more anticipation to get even just a small inside look at what they’ve been up to. Just as you’re about to take a left into St Anne’s Court, you glance further down Wardour Street to see the Marquee Club, currently laying dormant in silence, and you smile with the knowledge that in two days time, you and your bandmates will be there in full force to support Queen on their first gig as a signed act. Turning into the street with a spring in your step, you find yourself almost hurrying to get to the door of Trident Sound Studio, slipping inside.

As you arrive, you’re about to ask where Brian can be found, but thankfully there’s no need; you spy him standing a little way down the main corridor, chatting with what you assume to be one of the sound engineers, and when you begin to stride towards him, he notices with a smile, moving to close the gap between you.

“Hi, thanks for coming,” he greets a little shyly, leaning in to kiss you warmly on the cheek.

“I haven’t kept you waiting, have I?” On the phone the other night, you’d estimated the time you’d arrive here, considering you’d known that you’d be coming straight from the rehearsal hall, but it had been a rough guess.

“No, we were taking a break anyway,” he replies, his angular teeth poking out in a cute way as he smiles. “Roy’s just having another little mix of it while we’re out here. Want to hear it?” The wide grin that spreads across your face speaks for you, and he giggles, planting another kiss on your face before ushering you over to the man he’d been talking to, who smiles and begins to walk down the corridor, the two of you trailing behind him.

As you walk side by side, Brian’s arm slung around your shoulders, you can’t help but ogle at the brief scenes you catch sight of through various windows that peer into different rooms, just as you and Harry had done when Queen had brought you here the day they got signed; seeing the place again, with its constant bustle of activity, really hits home just how lucky Queen are to be able to use it. Brian steers you into a doorway, and you pull yourself back into the present moment in order to take in the new sight; you’re entering a mixing room that is just as decked out with fancy equipment as the rooms you’d been staring at had been, and sitting at the console is a man with dark and rather wavy hair, though not a patch on Brian’s adorable mess of curls. He looks up from his work with a smile as you enter, seeming to have been expecting you.

“Ah, there you are,” he greets all three of you simultaneously, and as Brian introduces you, you find yourself feeling slightly overwhelmed at the sheer amount of money that must have been put into creating this place; rack and racks of effects machines, a mixing console wider than your mother’s dining table, and enough sound-proofing to mask a fireworks display – it really is so impressive.

“I won’t get in the way, I promise,” you insist with a grin, wanting to ensure that you’re not a nuisance to the men at work, but the man, whom you now know as Roy, seems unfazed by your presence.

“No, no, take a seat,” he says, waving an arm towards a nearby chair, which you pull up eagerly. The introductions had distracted you such that it’s only in this moment that you hear the unmistakable tone of Brian’s guitar, and realise that the piece they’re working on must have been playing over the speakers this whole time. However, you only have a few seconds to tune into it before Roy presses a couple of buttons, halting the playback, and the room fills with a whirring sound as the tape rewinds.

“See what you think of this,” Brian says quietly in your ear as he leans against the back of your seat. “I think it’ll be good for us to walk on stage to.” As you nod, he flashes an excited smile, seeming to be looking forward to your opinion, and then the three of them agree to get back to work, Brian heading into the live room. As you crane your neck slightly in order to see the full scale of the room through the window, you notice his Red Special propped carefully next to an amp, which, after casting your mind back for a moment, you remember is the one that John had built for him. A fresh rush of exhilaration fills you as you enjoy just how exciting all of this is, seeing Brian and John’s homemade musical creations put to work in such a grand studio. By this point, Brian has hoisted the Red Special back over his shoulder, ready for action. Roy presses a button on the desk, allowing him to speak to Brian in the other room.

“Right, so we’ve done those middle overdubs,” he muses aloud. “Do you want to start on the higher ones towards the end?” Brian replies affirmatively, his voice picked up faintly by the microphones surrounding the amp. “Are you sure you don’t want any echo at all?” His mop of curls bounces frantically as he shakes his head strongly.

“No, I like it dry, if you don’t mind,” he replies, and Roy nods with a laugh, accepting Brian’s preferences, and gives him a practise run. You watch as he readies his hands over the frets of his guitar, momentarily resting his trusty sixpence against the bottom string, and it gives a little scratch, almost as if the instrument itself is clearing its throat. Then, as Roy presses the playback button, the track bursts into the air again, and not wanting to miss a moment of it, you focus intently. All you can hear is guitar parts, all harmonising with each other, and as Brian comes in, he adds another melodic line to the mix. You find yourself spellbound for a moment as he plays, watching his stance alter from its usual shyness to something bolder, his hands working fluidly, his face a picture of concentration, the fluff of his hair waving as he nods along. A fuzzy sense of adoration fills your whole being, and you have to suppress a big smile as you bask in the fact that the wonderful man and talented musician through the glass is indeed your boyfriend.

Time seems to go by very quickly, despite the constant stopping and starting, the engineer popping in and out of the live room to tweak a microphone or something similar, and the tape getting rewound again and again with each take. It’s all a bit of a blur, but at the same time, you really enjoy watching Brian work; he looks as though he’s in his element here, enthusiastic and content, despite his high level of concentration. As you watch his face, practically able to see his mind ticking over with thoughts about the music, you really admire his dedication and creativity – it seems as though this track has been entirely Brian’s vision from the beginning. After a take, Roy presses the talkback button once more, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Is that it, then? Have we done them all?”

“I think so,” Brian’s reply comes, muffled and distant. “I’ll have a listen and see what it sounds like now.” Sitting more upright in your seat as he exits the live room to join you all, you’re excited to hear the full thing, having only heard snippets of the parts they’d been overdubbing so far. The door swings open to reveal Brian, his curls falling back with the breeze created by it, and he comes to stand behind Roy, placing himself perfectly between the speakers to get a proper listen. Glancing at you briefly, he flashes a knockout smile before reaching over to grasp your hand, butterflies swarming inside your stomach. Roy then plays the whole track back from the beginning, and you finally get to experience it in full.

It starts with nothing but Roger’s kick drum thumping out a heartbeat-esque rhythm, something he must have recorded earlier. Following this, you’re greeted by what you can only describe as a wall of sound; so many takes of Brian’s guitar, layers and layers of them all stacked on top of each other, creating lots of harmonies as they merge. Given the slow pace of the track and the majestic movement of the guitar melodies, it sounds very regal, and absolutely perfect for a band such as Queen – you can already see Freddie prancing to it in your mind’s eye. As it continues, you begin to recognise some of the takes that Brian has just recorded, mixed in with what was already there, and the wall of sound builds until it climaxes with a real sense of pomp and theatre. In your opinion, it’s a brilliant piece of work, and couldn’t suit Queen’s style more.

“What do you think?” Roy asks, his light tone of voice suggesting that he’s quite happy with it himself. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah, I think we might have got it all,” Brian says as he nods, seeming pleased with the result. “I don’t think it needs any more.”

“I don’t have the tracks for any more!” Roy jokes, and the pair snort in amusement. It must have taken a lot of overdubs for such a grand, layered sound to have been created. The two of them chat about the track for a moment, agreeing on its completion, and Roy confirms that he’ll do a final mix of it and have it ready for the concert on Monday. Satisfied, the session is effectively ended, Roy getting to work straight away, going through the track bit by bit and balancing the levels of various parts to make a cohesive sound. Brian grabs another spare chair from the back wall of the room and sets it beside you to sit down for a moment.

“So, what do you think? Is it alright?”

“It’s fantastic, Brian,” you insist honestly, squeezing his hands. “It’s so different. I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many guitar parts all at once!” He chuckles at the comment, nodding with a grin.

“To be honest, I’ve wanted to make something like this for a long time. I really do love guitar harmonies, and I suppose I wanted to see if I could create a sort of orchestra with them. This has been great – like a dream come true, really.” His voice drops in volume as he speaks, and you imagine that it’s partially so as not to distract Roy from his mixing, but at the same time, you can pick out that vulnerable tone that you love to hear whenever he speaks about something he cares for. Thoroughly endeared by him, you simply watch him as he turns his attention back to the sounds produced by the speakers, evidently losing himself in the music, his eyes sparkling with many feelings at once. It’s lovely to see him so passionate about something, and enjoying the feeling of making something he’d wanted to create a reality. You lace your fingers with his affectionately, and though he closes his hand around yours, he doesn’t quite manage to pull his focus away from the music.

“Yeah,” he muses lowly, nodding with satisfaction, “guitar harmonies are the best. Two is great, but you can really get a long way with three…” His smile grows adorably. “…and with four, you can conquer the world!” The two of you chuckle simultaneously, Brian in self-deprecation at his dorkiness, and you in cuteness-overload at just how adorable he is. One the pair of you have calmed down, he turns to you more seriously, having fully resurfaced from his music-induced daydream.

“Are all of the boys coming with you on Monday, then?”

“They should be,” you reply hopefully. “I told them all about it the day after you called me, so they should have had time to plan for it. Harry and I are going to have to stay at yours again, though.” The smile you both share at this statement carries not only your excitement at being able to spend the night together again, but also your sincere hope that your mother doesn’t get sick of you spending too much time there and put a stop to these visits. Just as previously, you and Harry had told her that you were planning to stay the night in order to have another long studying session, but you wonder how much longer that excuse is going to hold up.

“Can’t wait,” Brian says in a small, contented voice, and all thoughts of your mother are quickly sent away as you smile back at him, leaning in for a kiss.

“By the way, what are you calling this piece?”

“I was trying to think of some grand title,” Brian replies with amusement on his face, “but I might just call it ‘Procession’.”

__

Wardour Street stretches out before you for the second time in the last three days, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason than at the weekend; Monday has arrived, the day you’ve all been waiting for, and it’s time for you and your bandmates to once again lend your support to your best friends. Despite the fact that Monday night isn’t exactly the hottest night of the week for a party, you’ve decided to dress up and put your full effort into it, still excited to see Queen play their first show as a signed band, regardless of EMI’s cock-ups. The five of you stride with purpose towards the Marquee Club, and as you pass the turn-off for St Anne’s Court, you glance at it momentarily with a smile, remembering Saturday’s studio time with Brian. As close as Harry also is with the Queen boys, Brian had specifically invited you, and you’d known that if Harry had caught wind of where you’d been going, he would have demanded to come along to see the studio in action. Thankfully, you’d managed to convince him that Brian had asked you on a date somewhere rather more ordinary after band practise, and you feel a warm rush of joy at the fact that the two of you had been able to enjoy the time without anyone else being there. Prising your mind from the thought, you focus back in on the present moment as you reach the entrance of the Marquee Club, filing in with the boys.

As soon as you enter, you notice the difference that an EMI-promoted gig creates; while a lot of the room is filled with the regular type of young London concert-goers, there is also a considerable amount of slightly older, more official looking people, and you remember one of the boys telling you that EMI had invited some officials from the company to watch their launch show. The crowd in general also seems to be larger than usual, even for a Queen show, as the room is quite packed despite the support act not even having taken to the stage yet. The boys automatically make their way towards the bar, and you indulge in a drink with them. Casting around to see if any of the Queen boys are in the room, you don’t seem to find them anywhere, and then you’re momentarily distracted by the support band arriving, kicking off their first song. However, as you stop to listen to them out of curiosity, a figure sidles towards you, and you recognise each other at the same time.

“Hi John!”

“Oh, hello,” he says with a warm smile, looking at you all in turn. “You haven’t been here too long, have you?”

“Nah, only got here a few minutes ago,” Dave informs with a grin, and John nods in relief.

“Everyone’s back there, if you want to go and say ‘hello’,” he says, jerking his head towards the backstage area. “I just thought I’d have a little listen to the support.” Knowing that you basically have all night to hang out with the Queen boys, the five of you stick with John for a couple of songs, nodding with interest at the band.

“Not bad, are they?” Tom asks, and you all nod in agreement, before deciding to head backstage to see the rest of the group. Following John as he leads the way, you find yourself a little more excited than when you’d arrived – you’ve never been backstage at the Marquee before. The lot of you bowling in through the door as a group, you’re immediately greeted by Freddie, Brian and Roger, who seem pleased to see you all. Freddie sweeps you up into his usual tight hug, which you return happily, and chatter breaks out easily.

“I sincerely hope,” Freddie announces with both a touch of drama and a tinge of disgruntlement in his voice, “that once we’ve done such a terrific job at being the best band in London tonight, those EMI bigwigs will realise how important it is that our album reaches the public immediately!” Laughing at his statement, but noting the slight disappointment in each of the Queen boys’ eyes as they nod in agreement, you feel a little bad for them, hoping that they won’t allow EMI’s messing about to ruin their evening.

“Don’t worry,” you say quickly, wanting to console them, “this is still a big event. It’s your first live show as a signed act, and to EMI, no less – it’s going to be great!”

“Yeah, there are so many people out there waiting to see you,” Charlie chips in, evidently picking up on your intentions. “It’s completely packed.”

“I think there are staff members from the label here too,” Tom adds encouragingly. “They must want to see the new talent.”

“And when your album does come out,” Harry says, his trademark toothy grin firmly in place, “everyone will be so excited for it after seeing this show, that it’ll sell out straight away!” There’s a ripple of much-needed laughter throughout the group, and you find yourself feeling grateful that your bandmates are thoughtful enough to help you out in cheering Queen up. The four of them do seem to appreciate it, visibly relaxing as they smile.

“I’m buying ten copies!” Dave adds comically, and after more giggles rise up from everybody, you make your way over to Brian’s side as more casual chatter begins again. It seems as though he’d been eager to get close to you, as he leans down to kiss you as soon as you do so.

“What time are you on?”

“In about half an hour,” he replies after consulting his watch. “Thanks for saying all of that before, by the way,” he adds, his expression softening with a smile. “I think we were a bit put out earlier.”

“It’s understandable,” you reply, half rolling your eyes with disdain at EMI’s disorganisation. “Don’t think about all that – just play a damn good show, like I know you can.” Brian’s outlook seems to brighten considerably at your words, and he leans in for more kisses.

“Did they get ‘Procession’ ready to use?” you ask, once the pair of you have separated, though you could have happily stayed glued to him all night.

“Yes, we’re going to walk out to it,” he confirms, seeming very pleased about it. “We’re doing a few new songs tonight, actually.”

“Really?” you blurt more loudly than you’d intended, excited at the thought of more new Queen music. “How much have you been writing?”

“A lot, honestly,” he replies, grinning. “It’s one of the reasons we can’t wait to get the album out, so we can start recording the next one.”

“Wow,” you emit, genuinely impressed, “you lot are really productive.” He smiles, looking much more content than when you’d first arrived, and you’re glad you could help. You all enjoy your time together in the backstage room, and more quickly than you’d expected, it’s time for Queen to get ready to go on, so you say your final goodbyes for now.

“Knock ‘em dead,” you instruct Brian as you plant kisses across both of his cheeks. “Show them what you’re made of!” When the two of you let each other go, you turn to Roger, who is the next nearest Queen member to you, giving him a big hug and a peck on the cheek too, simply out of fondness. “You too, Rog, rock ‘em!” He squeals comically at the kiss, giggling and thanking you before following Brian. Freddie seems to practically appear out of thin air a split second later, demanding a kiss from you too, and you laugh in mock despair and curse the trend you seem to have started. At least you can rely on John to quell the madness, giving you his usual casual hug before striding away.

A sense of excitement seems to fall over everybody in the room, now that Queen’s performance is only minutes away, and you and your bandmates file out of the door after shouting your final good luck wishes, heading to the bar to quickly replenish your drinks before finding a good spot to see the stage from. You and Harry catch each others’ eye, sharing a look of giddiness, and then, before you know it, the lights on the stage darken to signal Queen’s arrival.

To your joy, the now familiar introduction to ‘Procession’ begins to fill the room, and you feel your stomach clench as you try to mask your excited recognition of the piece, keeping it your little secret with Brian. As the music swells, John, Roger and Brian stride out onto the stage, causing the audience to start cheering, and just on cue as the sound reaches its peak, Freddie comes strutting out into the spotlight, all traces of his earlier discomfort gone, thoroughly locked in entertainment mode. Without so much as a word, he simply turns to Brian, who starts picking out an introduction on his guitar, and then the whole band slams in. This is a song you’ve never heard before, called ‘Father To Son’, and must be a result of their recent frenzy of song writing. It’s really good, and you get the feeling that it’s going to become a staple of their live show, with its catchy nature, great vocal harmonies and singalong ending. You meet eyes with Harry again, and he slings his arm around you and squeezes your shoulders, both of you so pleased to see Queen out in full force again.

The rest of the set list proves to be just as entertaining; ‘Son And Daughter’ comes next, with its rolling riffs and somewhat raunchy style, followed by ‘Keep Yourself Alive’, which Freddie introduces as their upcoming single. The crowd seem impressed at this, cheering loudly, and it only heightens the energy in the room. After this is another new song you haven’t heard before, ‘Ogre Battle’, and it’s possibly one of the best songs they’ve written, boasting fast guitar parts and wonderful, fantastical lyrics. The audience seem to enjoy this one in particular. The band then bring the intensity down a little with ‘Doin’ All Right’. As Freddie introduces it, Roger points across the room at you with his drumstick, winking cheekily, and you giggle as Brian also shoots a smile in your direction, knowing very well by now that it’s your favourite. Over so much more quickly than you’d wanted it to be, the evening is topped off with their usual medley of rock and roll songs, to which some of the crowd begin dancing, and you can’t help but join in. As you’re all beginning to sweat from the body heat in the room, everyone twisting and bopping, the last chord comes crashing in, and though you don’t want the show to end, you holler and cheer loudly, clapping as the crowd do the same. Freddie thanks everyone, waving his arms in a wide, dramatic gesture, and Brian, John and Roger wave with smiles as they all leave the stage.

You and your bandmates don’t even need to consult each other as to whether you’d like to meet them backstage or not; as soon as the last glimpse of Freddie’s glam outfit disappears out of sight, you all begin to half-run towards the backstage area, having to squeeze up against the garishly striped walls in a single file formation in order to slink past the bodies blocking the way. Once you all pile into the room, you’re immediately greeted by the sight of Queen congratulating each other on their performances, sweaty and grinning. Your bandmates rush forward to bombard them all with praise, and you join them readily; despite the fact that the album isn’t available to the public yet, they still played a brilliant show, and they deserve to take pride in it.

“Those new songs were great!” Dave says enthusiastically, echoing what you’d been about to say yourself, and there’s agreement all round.

“Thank you, darlings,” Freddie coos, looking pleased. “We can’t wait to get them recorded!” You give each of the boys another hug in turn, complimenting them on various elements of their performance, and begin to relax and enjoy the sound of friendly chatter filling the air as you sink into Brian’s arms once more.

“You were wonderful,” you say softly to him, and he kisses you through a smile, looking tired but happy.

“You know what I’m looking forward to now?” he asks, a loving glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but blush before you’ve even responded.

“What’s that?” He leans down until his mouth is by your ear, kissing it lightly before replying, and when he does, your stomach flutters with adoration all over again.

“Waking up next to you tomorrow morning.”


	21. When I Was You, And You Were Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excitement ensues when, thanks to Freddie's help, your band manages to land your own show at the Marquee Club, supporting a local band. However, Harry confides some of his hidden insecurities in you, and you're worried about how to bring his usual optimism back before the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tee-hee! I snuck in an extra chapter before I got too busy again! ^_^

“Could you pass the salt?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You slide the salt shaker across the table towards your mother, who’s sitting opposite as the pair of you make a start on your dinner without Harry; it had been strange heading home from college without him, but at your lunchtime meet-up, he’d asked you to tell your mother that he’d be a little late home. His excuse was that he’d wanted to go to the library after his last lecture and look for a specific book that will help with your collective studying, but knowing Harry, that’s the last reason on Earth that he’d be home late. His mischievous eyebrow wiggle as he’d asked you for the favour had only cemented the idea that it had been a complete lie, and your curiosity has been piqued ever since. The lazy student that he is, he only attends the bare minimum out of the lectures available to you, hence why you aren’t always together in college despite taking the same subject. The rest of the time, he spends in the library, not as a way of studying, but as a way to procrastinate and pretend that he’s reading. Hiding your smirk as you internally laugh at the fact that he really never changes, you continue cutting into your pie and pray that he comes home soon so that you can tell him some exciting news that you’d just received before dinner began. You and your mother are about two thirds of the way through your meals when Harry finally walks in, looking just as carefree as always.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says with an easy smile, and your mother puts down her knife and fork to stand up from the table.

“That’s alright,” she says, although her somewhat analytic gaze seems to suggest that she’s slightly annoyed. “I’ve kept you a plate in the oven. I’ll just see if it’s still warm enough.”

“Thanks, mum.” She crosses to the kitchen to sort out Harry’s food, and as she’s momentarily occupied, you wave him over to the table furiously, your eyes wide in excitement. Seeming bemused, he slides into his usual seat, dropping his bag carelessly to the floor, and fixes you with a serious look.

“We’ve got a gig!” you whisper, your eyes darting past him briefly towards the kitchen to make sure your mother doesn’t turn around to see you say this. Harry’s face brightens up immediately at your words.

“How did this come about?” he whispers in return, but just as you’re about to reply, your mother’s inevitable questioning begins, cutting your conversation short.

“So, what did you get up to after college, Harry?” she calls from the kitchen as she assembles his dinner on the plate.

“I wanted to find this really good biology book,” he shouts back, “but all of the copies were already being borrowed. I looked for ages.” He meets your eyes momentarily, and the two of you share a muted grin to suggest that neither of you believe his words. “I just had to ask the librarian to let me know if one comes back in.” Your mother reappears at this point, placing Harry’s food in front of him.

“That’s a shame. Hopefully you’ll get hold of it soon.” As she sits back down, she looks as though she’s about to ask more questions, but Harry evidently doesn’t want any further interrogation. 

“Mmm, we haven’t had pie in ages.” He’d obviously said it to try to change the subject, and thankfully, your mother takes the bait, talking about other meals she’d been thinking of cooking later in the week. You swallow your laughter and shoot Harry a look across the table, trying to tell him with your eyes that you want to talk to him upstairs later about the gig, and in true sibling telepathy, he nods discreetly with a grin, seeming to know exactly what you mean.

Once the two of you had enjoyed the rest of your meal, talking to your mother about your studies for as long as you could bear, you’d excused yourselves on the pretence of wanting to go over some lecture notes, scuttling up to your room to do exactly the opposite.

“So, go on then,” Harry urges, looking eager for details, “what’s this gig about? Did you do something without telling me?”

“Maybe,” you admit with a giggle. You explain to him how, on the night of Queen’s Marquee Club concert, you’d been thinking about how exciting it had been to watch them play on the same stage that so many other incredible and culturally important bands have performed – The Who, Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin, to name a few. You’d found yourself sorely wishing that your own band could play there, and fuelled by a random burst of determination brought on by Queen’s conquest, you’d decided to talk to the Marquee Club staff about getting a gig, grabbing Freddie and asking him if he’d help talk you up, to which he’d been only happy to oblige. The pair of you had had a conversation with the events organiser, and Freddie had made a point of singing your band’s praises, pointing out that you’d supported Queen before, and in fact, he’d been very disappointed that the label had assigned another support act before asking them, as they would have loved your band to have been on the bill with them that night. In natural Freddie style, he did go overboard a little, but it must have done something good, as the man had taken down your details and said that he might give you a ring if something suitable became available. That was two weeks ago, and given what usually happens when venues promise to contact you, you’d written it off as a failure, but lo and behold, a phone call had arrived just before dinner tonight, proving you fantastically wrong.

“So why didn’t you ask me to talk to him with you?” Harry asks in an accusatory tone after you finish recounting the event, and you can’t help but snigger as the scene repaints itself in your mind.

“Well, you were in a bit of a state,” you reply through giggles. “How many pints did you have?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Harry mumbles, a self-deprecating grin on his face as he recalls that particular part of the evening. “I can’t remember!” You both succumb to laughter for a moment, before pulling yourselves together.

“I sort of can’t believe this,” you continue, your voice growing shaky with excitement. “The Marquee Club is so iconic these days, and we’re going to be on that stage!” Harry whoops in victory, high-fiving you, and then the pair of you snort quiet giggles as you realise that this noise probably doesn’t convey the idea that you’re studying to your mother downstairs.

“I’m proud of you, sis!” he gushes, giving you a tough-guy hug that’s more of a headlock than anything, and you don’t even bother struggling, simply laughing until he releases you from his grasp.

“This is gonna be so good,” you exude, pleased to be following in Queen’s footsteps in some way, at least. “We’re lucky they needed a support act.” Harry’s grin seems to falter slightly at this.

“Huh?”

“We got the gig because they’d just booked someone who needs a support act, and since we were already on some kind of reserve list, I suppose, they called us first. Thank god for that!” You beam happily, but for some reason, Harry doesn’t do the same; he smiles, but you can tell that it’s slightly put on, and his sudden lack of enthusiasm, when he’d just been celebrating a minute ago, is disconcerting.

“What’s up?”

“I dunno,” he muses, but you can sense that there’s a clear reason in his mind. Luckily, he opens up about it. “I suppose I just really want us to be the headliner, not the support.”

“Well, yeah,” you concede, knowing exactly how he feels, as a good eighty percent of your shows have been as a support act, at the least. Unfortunately, that’s just the way it goes, until you gain a big enough following of your own to be able to sell enough tickets to warrant venues putting you on a headlining spot. It’s happened a handful of times, but as things stand at the moment, it doesn’t seem to be a long-lasting thing.

“It is a bit rubbish, but the more gigs we play, the bigger chance we have of gaining more fans,” you point out. “We just need to make sure we’re seen as much as possible, and the Marquee Club is probably the best place we could play, support or not!” A surge of optimism fills you as you contemplate the potential opportunities that might come from the show. Sliding your gaze back over to Harry, you’re disappointed to see that he’s still not fully out of his funk.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says with a nod. “It’s just getting really boring, not being able to play better places. I wish something bigger would come along.” Watching him pull a thread sticking out of the hem of his trouser leg in a fidgety sulk, you start to feel concerned.

“I know,” you urge, nudging his arm, “but we’ve got to do everything we can. Wasn’t it you that said that not so long ago?” He meets your eyes, and thankfully, a smile begins to grow on his face, and you return it in relief.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he relents, leaning back in a more relaxed position. “We’ll just have to do a good job and hope that something comes of it.” Feeling a bit better now that his mood has shifted back towards contentment, you lean back yourself, your head beginning to fill with fantasies of the Marquee Club playing host to your own band for one night only, the five of you owning its stage for thirty precious minutes.

“By the way, what did you actually stay behind at college for?” You have to suppress another loud laugh as Harry replies.

“I went to talk to someone from one of the college bands about music – we ended up having a jam!”

__

A few days later, you’d managed to convince your mother that the pair of you had wanted to attend a special, one-off lecture after college, which she’d been only too pleased about. Of course, what you’re actually doing is having a band practise with Tom, Charlie and Dave. Your anticipated show at the Marquee Club only days away, you’re thoroughly enjoying this chance to make sure that you’re as well practised as can be, the set list organised and agreed upon. You do your best to control your voice as professionally as possible as you belt out the last few lines of the current song, feeling satisfied enough with the result as it comes to an end. As you turn to face your bandmates, everybody smiles in unison.

“Sounding good,” Dave says, and as Tom nods approvingly, Charlie throws one of his sticks excitedly up into the air, catching it impressively.

“I’m really looking forward to this!” he exudes loudly, and you all laugh, glad that your enthusiasm for the show has caught on with the other boys. However, Dave’s next sentence brings the atmosphere down a little, pointing out something that you’d just begun to notice yourself.

“You’re quiet, for a change.” He shoots the words at Harry, who looks back at him with an expression that’s hard to read, but it’s easy to tell that he definitely isn’t fully sharing the group’s high energy.

“Just thinking about stuff,” he replies in a slight mumble, evidently not wanting to give anything away, and hoists his guitar over his head, leaning it against his amp, which he momentarily turns off to prevent feedback. “I’m just going to the toilet.” Watching him as he jumps down from the stage and jogs out of the room, you start to get a sense of foreboding again – he still doesn’t seem too excited about the show.

“What’s going on with him?” Charlie asks, and all three boys look to you for information.

“I think he’s sick of playing support slots,” you tell them honestly, hoping that they can help you cheer him up a little. “We were talking about it the other night, and it’s true that we haven’t really headlined much, but I don’t know – he just got down about it.” The boys nod, seeming to understand, and you imagine that they might have had similar feelings themselves, although you’re not entirely sure of each member’s level of ambition in comparison to yours and Harry’s.

“It makes sense,” Tom replies. “If you’re really wanting to make a career out of something, it’s always rubbish when you feel like you just can’t get any further.”

“It’s going to be great, though,” Charlie adds, seeming a little agitated. “How is he not jumping for joy that we’re playing the Marquee, of all places?”

“No, he was really excited,” you reply, defending Harry’s reaction, “he just got a bit moody when he heard about the support part.”

“Fair enough,” he responds, relaxing a little.

“Does that mean we need to kick his arse into shape, then?” Dave asks with a tenacious grin, and it’s contagious, as you begin to smile back.

“Yeah, I think we do,” you reply as everyone nods in agreement, knowing that they’re on your side in cheering him up. After another minute, Harry comes running back into the room, evidently not wanting to delay practise any longer.

“Sorry,” he mutters, donning his guitar again hurriedly. “What song’s next?” You watch as Dave and Charlie lock eyes with cheeky expressions, and then the pair of them inexplicably begin to invent some kind of impromptu song on the spot, Tom joining in after a moment.

“I’ve written a new one,” Dave shouts at Harry over the music, who looks just as bemused as you do. “It’s called ‘Stop Being A Mardy Arse, Harry’!” You can’t help but start laughing as the three of them continue with their ridiculous song, making it up as they go along, which results in a couple of awful chord clashes in places. To add to the noise, Dave starts singing over the top of it, though without a microphone, as he’s not actually a singer, so he has to yell it, which makes it even more out of tune.

“Stop being a mardy arse, Harry! Support slots aren’t so bad!” he shouts in what can only very loosely be described as some sort of melody, and Tom and Harry start to giggle, their shoulders shaking visibly as they play. “If you don’t stop sulking-“ Charlie decides to chime in, loudly adding a line of his own.

“-we’ll kick you in the nads!” All three of them then break down into raucous laughter at their own invention, their playing halted in its tracks, and despite the fact that they’d all made complete fools out of themselves, they seem quite pleased about it. You look over at Harry, and to your relief, he starts chortling loudly at the ‘song’, clearly not offended, and it causes you to relax again, giggling away along with everybody else. As if you needed any more of a distraction from getting back to practise, Charlie looks over to you with a stupid grin on his face.

“What do you think?” He nods approvingly, as though he’s pretending to encourage you to say that you loved the song.

“I’m not putting that on the set list!” Everyone breaks down again, thoroughly entertained by the boys’ tomfoolery, and as you all pull yourselves together for the second time, aware that your slot at the practise hall won’t last forever, Harry eyes you all with a smile, seeming to have lost his sour mood.

“Alright, message received! Let’s get on with it!” As you collect yourself, shaking out the last of your amusement in order to concentrate, Harry glances at you briefly, shooting you a small smile. You’re thankful that he seems to have actually appreciated the attempt to cheer him up, even though it did end up coming out as a joke at his expense, and find yourself hoping that he perks up properly before the show.

The rest of practise goes well, and the five of you, satisfied that you’re ready to perform, say your goodbyes, impressing your excitement about the opportunity once again as you part. The evening has well and truly set in, and in what is now a regular habit, you and Harry tell your mother all about the fictional lecture you’d both attended and how beneficial it had been, covering up what you’d actually done. A small part of you does feel a little guilty that you’ve lied to her so often, but you justify it to yourself with the fact that you feel as though you’re doing enough preparation for the exams without having to be kept on partial house arrest, and will prove it to her when the time comes anyway. Now reclining on your bed, looking casually through some college notes, you’re distracted when a knock comes softly on your bedroom door.

“Come in!” Expecting it to be your mother, you’re surprised when Harry’s tousle-haired form slips in through the doorway, looking a little sheepish. Harry’s not always been good at saying what’s on his mind when it’s an insecurity rather than an opinion, so you give him a moment to speak for himself, rather than interrogating him. Thankfully, it works.

“Sorry for being a bit moody recently,” he says lowly, as though he doesn’t want to admit it.

“That’s alright,” you reply honestly, and he stands awkwardly at the edge of the room for a moment, before moving to take a seat opposite you on the bed.

“I think I’ve just been extra anxious about stuff recently.” He never gives anything away, so it’s difficult to gauge exactly what he means.

“How so?”

“Well, I suppose just seeing Queen do all that…” He trails off for a moment, but then seems to realise that he might as well just say it all. “When they got signed, and playing all these headline shows, and recording at Trident. I just wish we had all that.” Appreciating his honesty, you ruffle his hair affectionately, knowing that he’d never admit that something like this was bothering him in front of your bandmates, or anyone else at all, for that matter.

“You’re green, Harry.”

“What?”

“With envy!”

“Oh.” The comment makes him smirk for a moment, and then he bats your hand away in mock annoyance. “Shut up!” The pair of you chuckle, and then he nods. “No, you’re right. It’s so frustrating, seeing them take all these big steps, and not being able to do the same thing.” He reclines fully across the bottom of your bed, laying on his back. “I keep hoping that something similar will happen to us, but we’ve still got nothing.”

“I know what you’re saying,” you reply, hoping he’ll understand your point, “but it took Queen about three years to get to this point, didn’t it? We’ve only been going a year. It’s really crappy, but it takes a long time to get recognised in the music industry.” Harry exhales a heavy sigh in acknowledgement, seeming fed up, and you try not to let him stay that way. “Thing is, though – look at how fast things have started to happen for Queen since they got signed. I know they’re having some delays at the moment, but their album’s coming out, they’ll have a single, they’ve done interviews and photo shoots… they’re getting looked after.” Harry doesn’t reply. “And how did they get signed?” He looks up in contemplation at the question, trying to remember the sequence of events that Queen had told you about that led up to their meeting with Roy Featherstone. He finds the answer in his mind, raising his eyebrows with a somewhat defeated expression as he remembers.

“Playing that festival in France.”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “They were out playing any show they could find, being seen, putting themselves in the public eye. It’s not like they were a headliner at that festival – god knows how many bands must have played that day.” Harry nods slowly at your words, seeming to understand what you’re getting at. “They just happened to have been in the right place at the right time, and if we keep playing anything we can get our hands on-“

“The same thing might happen,” he butts in, completing your sentence. You nod enthusiastically, surprised at Harry for getting into such a stew over this; as you’d pointed out earlier in the week, it had been him that had wanted the band to take things seriously and start working harder to get noticed, and it seems as though the fire in his belly has begun to run out. However, gazing at his lounging form, you realise that you can completely understand why – it’s hard to keep your determination up when nothing ever seems to change, and in a way, you can feel it yourself. The only reason that you’re not more bothered by it is probably because you’ve still got half an eye on your exams in May, which isn’t that far away now – you just want to make sure you get some good results, to prevent all of your time in post-degree education becoming a waste. Once that’s over and done with, you’re positive that your viewpoint will align exactly with Harry’s, which means that the pair of you will need to support each other, as if things still don’t improve for the band, you’ll both be feeling dejected.

“I know it feels awful sometimes,” you tell him, grabbing one of his hands and squeezing it tightly, “but we can do it. Let’s just keep going and putting ourselves out there. We’re playing the Marquee Club, you know-“ You put on a gossipy tone of voice, as if impressed at your own exploits. “-it’s the place to be!” Harry exhales a laugh, his shoulders jerking as he does so, and squeezes your hand in return.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, sis.” Neither of you speak for a minute, simply enjoying the moment of peace and contemplation, and you hope that the thoughts going though Harry’s mind are now a bit more optimistic. The quiet atmosphere is then suddenly pierced by the sound of the phone ringing downstairs, and the two of you start slightly, listening to your mother as she crosses the living room to answer it.

“Freddie’s on the phone!” Her shrill tone makes itself heard all the way up the stairs and through your bedroom door, and you look at Harry with amusement, as she hadn’t specified which one of them he’d wanted to talk to.

“Go on, you answer it,” he instructs, sliding off your bed. “He probably wants to talk about dresses and afternoon tea, anyway.” You throw a pillow at him in response as the pair of you laugh, and it hits him squarely in the back. He reaches around at it, fumbling for a moment before grabbing it and sending it back your way. Discarding it onto your bed as you both grin, you make your way downstairs as Harry heads into his room. Your mother nods at the phone with a smile, heading into the kitchen, and you pick up the receiver.

“Hello, Freddie.”

“Hello, sweet pea! How are you?” His voice is a welcome distraction from the thought of band troubles and studying.

“Better now I’m talking to you,” you admit, and he giggles down the phone.

“I should think so! I just called to say that I’m very excited about our show at the weekend!” Considering that Freddie had bigged you up to the staff at the Marquee Club, he’d decided to take partial responsibility for the opportunity you’d landed, taking to calling it ‘our’ show as opposed to ‘yours’, which amused you greatly.

“Yes, so am I,” you reply, smiling. “Have you heard anything more from EMI yet about the album?” The exasperated noise Freddie makes in response doesn’t bode well.

“No, and I’m sick of waiting,” he says matter-of-factly. “But I’m sure it’ll all come together soon enough. We’ve not really got much on at the moment, no shows or anything. We’re just waiting for them to get back to us, really.”

“That’s a shame,” you reply, “but at least your Marquee show was a success.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, seeming to perk up considerably, “I think it went superbly, considering the management side of things was such a mess. And now we get to enjoy you play on the same stage! I’m going to dress to the nines!” While his giddiness makes you chuckle, you can’t help but feel as though you want to confide your worries about Harry to him, and glancing briefly behind you to make sure that your mother isn’t listening in, you do just that.

“Oh, well, I can’t say that he’s wrong,” Freddie replies after you give a quick summary of Harry’s concerns. “Playing support has to have been one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.” The way he says it so earnestly causes you to bark with unexpected laughter, and you can hear him giggling too. After the pair of you calm down, he seems to take it a little more seriously. “No, I can completely understand. It took us a long time to get to where we are, but I suppose we can only do what we can, and hope that things take a turn for the better. That’s all we did. We’re still doing it now, to be honest – we’re ultra-blagging our way to success, darling!” His silly turns of phrase always make you laugh, and you find yourself appreciating his words, glad to hear that he’s still so down-to-earth despite his often grand statements and expectations.

“Thanks, Fred,” you reply with a smile. “It’s nice to know that we’re not a million miles apart.”

“No, keep going, my dear,” he encourages warmly. “I think we’ll all get there in the end.”

__

The low rumble of many simultaneous conversations continues to drone in the background as you straighten out your clothes in the mirror, checking your appearance. The time has come; you’re backstage at the Marquee Club, and Queen are there too, but this time, the roles are reversed. Freddie, Brian, Roger and John have been cheering you on for the past twenty minutes, helping to boost your confidence as you prepare for your support slot, and you feel your stomach jittering as you get ready, with both excitement and nerves. You’re never usually nervous, but since Harry’s been rather down in the dumps about the show, despite how amazing it is that you’re playing such a good venue, you’re praying that he doesn’t let it affect his performance. He’s usually your confidant and partner in crime, but his quietness has thrown you off balance somewhat. You feel a hand touch your shoulder, and without needing to turn around, you see Brian’s form reflected in the mirror behind you as he puts an arm around you.

“You look really nice.” Wanting his comfort, you turn around with a smile, sinking into him, and he strokes your hair for a moment, seeming to take extra care not to mess it up, which makes you smile even more. “Not long now.”

“I know,” you acknowledge, essentially expecting the call to begin your set at any time now. As if Brian’s words had summoned him, a staff member pops his head around the door, informing you that your cue to go on is a couple of minutes away, and you all thank him, the energy in the room shifting as your bandmates shake themselves from their relaxed demeanours to focus on the task at hand. Looking up at Brian with a smile, he leans in to kiss you, but just as you start to move away, he pulls you in again for more, seeming to sense your uncertainty and wanting to dispel it.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” he says when the two of you finally part. “I’ll be watching the whole thing.”

“I’ll sing it all for you,” you reply through a smile, kissing him once more before moving to say your temporary goodbyes to the other Queen boys. Freddie hugs you warmly, swaying you from side to side gently.

“It’s time to shine, my little star,” he says softly into your ear, squeezing you tightly before releasing you with a fond smile, and you feel so pleased to have his friendship, knowing that despite his outer appearance, which can seem a little shallow to those who don’t know him very well, he truly cares about his friends.

“I’ll make sure ‘our’ show goes perfectly, Freddie!” The two of you share a giggle, and then Roger comes over to wish you luck.

“Enjoy it,” he says encouragingly as he hugs you, “it’s great up there. Really good venue.” You thank him, and move to hug John as he appears next.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks Deaky!” He smirks at his nickname and shuffles over to your other bandmates. After all of the well wishes have been said, Queen wave as they make their exit, and it’s just the five of you left. Without speaking, you all wander over to the stage door in unison, the boys picking up their instruments and getting them ready. As you wait for your signal, you cast a glance over at Harry, and while he doesn’t look particularly morose, he’s still quiet, his usual over-confident grin not present. It makes everything feel disjointed somehow, your usual pre-gig camaraderie seeming a little off-kilter, and a bubble of anxiety fizzes in your gut as you wish you could do something to change it. Looking back at the stage, you let your mind be filled with anything that might improve his outlook.

“Just think of all the people who’ve stepped on that wood,” you say to the group as a whole, nodding at the stage. “The Who were practically regulars here in the 60’s, and Jimi Hendrix has played here a couple of times, and Led Zeppelin – and The Rolling Stones, too.” There’s an interested chunner from the boys.

“I think I read that David Bowie played here once,” Tom adds, and you look at him in surprise for a moment, not having known that yourself.

“Really?”

“Yeah, a long time ago, when he wasn’t really famous. I think he’d only just officially changed his last name to ‘Bowie’.” Dave and Charlie seem similarly impressed by the fact, eyeing each other with raised eyebrows.

“This is so cool,” Charlie states, fixing his eyes on the stage again, still brightly lit. “It’s probably the best place we’ve ever played.”

“Yeah, get a load of us!” Dave adds with a grin, and everyone breaks into quiet chuckles. You’re happy that the boys seem so satisfied, and turning to look at Harry again, you feel your optimism grow when he meets your eyes, a smile appearing on his face. He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it, holding it tightly as he nods, seeming to throw his worries out of the window.

“Just wait,” he chimes in, his usual loud tone of voice firmly back in place. “When we’re headlining the Hammersmith Odeon, we’ll forget all about this place!” Everyone starts to giggle at the statement, the notion that you’d one day sell out such a large venue both ridiculous and enticing, and as everyone looks around at each other with grins, you feel it – the pre-gig unison clicks into place at last, the energy between you all seeming to merge in perfect focus, and the bubbling in your stomach becomes pure excitement, the nerves falling away. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, as while you’re still gazing at each other happily, the lights on the stage finally dim, rousing your attention to your one responsibility for the night – entertaining the hell out of everybody in the room.

“Let’s steal the show,” you murmur, half joking and half genuinely ambitious, and with a collective cheer from the boys, you all make your way onto the stage. The lights come up to illuminate you all as you take your places, the audience clapping, and as you stare out into the room intently, you realise the magnitude of your own words; this really is the best stage you’ve ever stepped onto, having played host to many groups that you, your friends and peers admire so much, and now it’s your turn, as a support act, granted, but here nonetheless. With every person you catch sight of, the more your determination to make this a show they’ll never forget burns more brightly within you, and when you see the enthusiastic faces of Freddie, Brian, Roger and John cheering at you encouragingly, your confidence goes through the roof.

Turning to the boys, they nod to confirm that they’re ready, and without further delay, begin the first song. You can feel the music as much as you can hear it, the bass buzzing heavily in your chest, and the cymbals hissing in your ears. This is the place you feel most at home, and just before you open your mouth to sing the first line, you meet Harry’s eyes. He glances at you while playing the opening riff, his face a picture of enjoyment, and his smile positively beams as he shoots you a contented look. Thank goodness you’re back on the same page, both ready to give it all you’ve got, even if it takes you a hundred more gigs to get noticed, a thousand more – you’ll do it together. Turning back towards the audience, your eyes falling onto Brian’s familiar features for a second time, you recall your last words to him, resolving to not only sing it for him, but for Harry, for the rest of your bandmates and Brian’s, and for yourself.


	22. The Cloud, It Hangs Over Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've come to an important decision regarding your impending college exams, and need to talk to your band about it. You're quite confident that Dave, Tom and Charlie will be just fine about it... but what about Harry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it turns out that my other work is being delayed, which gives me more chances to work on this fic instead! Here you go!

“Honestly, I don’t know why they bother, sometimes!” Harry guffaws in response to Brian’s statement, and you can’t help but join in; you and Brian have just been filling Harry in on Freddie and Roger’s questionable clothing stall at Kensington Market, the reason they couldn’t come when you’d invited them to the Kensington Pub today, where you’re currently sitting. John had other plans too, but luckily, Dave, Tom and Charlie are on their way here, as they’re the people you’d wanted to talk to the most. You have to admit that there’s a reason why you’ve assembled your band at the pub, not just for a few social drinks, although that had been part of it. Hoping that it goes smoothly, you turn towards Brian, leaning against his shoulder gently, and he slides his free arm around you in response while taking a swig of his Guinness. The three of you share idle chit-chat as you wait, until after a short while, the boys come striding towards you, drinks already in hand.

“Couldn’t wait?” Harry asks with a grin, nodding at the pint in Charlie’s hand, and all three boys chuckle in reply.

“You invited us to a pub,” Dave points out with a comedic shrug. “What were we supposed to do?!” They all take seats, and the six of you fall into easy conversation as always, chatting about music, and naturally, a few inquisitive questions are shot Brian’s way regarding Queen’s progress with EMI, but unfortunately, there’s nothing more to tell as of yet. When there’s a lull in the conversation, you decide to pipe up with what you’d been wanting to say.

“Listen,” you say somewhat authoritatively, “I wanted to say something.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dave replies with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, between sips of his beer. “You two getting married?” He nods towards you and Brian, and the pair of you simultaneously turn a rather unflattering shade of puce as everyone bursts out laughing. You can’t help but giggle too, and looking across at Brian, you almost begin to clutch your stomach with both amusement and cringe-worthy adoration as he regards the table bashfully, seeming thoroughly embarrassed by the suggestion and looking rather cute as he does so. As the laughter continues, you nudge him playfully, and he relaxes, chuckling briefly before glancing at you with a smile, still blushing.

“Funnily enough, no,” you say through your laughter, regaining control of the situation, “that’s not what I was going to say. I actually wanted to talk about the band.”

“Oh, that’s much less interesting,” Charlie jokes, and another round of chuckles rises from the group before they settle down properly.

“Me and Harry have our final exams in a couple of weeks,” you inform, and just as you’d already predicted, Harry throws himself across the table in a mock tantrum, banging his forehead against it and hammering his fists repeatedly before sitting back up again with a laugh, causing you all to snort in amusement. “Yeah, well, exactly. So I just wanted to ask you all if it’s okay if we maybe put band activities on hold, just for those two weeks, so we can make sure we pass?” You’d been a little anxious about asking them this question, as you hadn’t wanted to come across as uncaring or not interested, but a part of you also feels quite confident that, as your bandmates and friends, they’ll understand. The faces of Tom, Charlie and Dave don’t change much beyond a mild eyebrow raise, but Harry’s becomes immediately alarmed.

“What?” he barks loudly, his tone still light-hearted, but evidently shocked.

“I just want to get it over with,” you continue, “just really get it all in my head so that I know what I’m doing in the exams. I’m not exactly thrilled about them, either,” you add, casting a knowing look over in Harry’s direction. “We’ve just been doing quite a bit of band stuff recently, and I’ve loved it, but I really haven’t been revising properly. I just need to put my head down into it in these last couple of weeks, and then I’ll be free.” Tom, Charlie and Dave nod in acceptance.

“No, that’s fine,” Dave says genuinely, “it’s only two weeks, isn’t it? Not so bad.” The look on Harry’s face seems to suggest that he thinks otherwise.

“That’s gonna set us back, though,” he complains, looking pleadingly at you, “and I don’t wanna stop practising and looking for gigs!”

“Alright then,” you reply, wanting to achieve some sort of compromise with him. “You don’t have to do the same as me. Why don’t you lot carry on practising, and then when the exams are over, I’ll join in again? I’ll probably only miss, what – three practises, at the rate we’ve been going recently?”

“Yeah, that’s no problem,” Tom says, backing you up. “We can just run through all the songs as instrumentals and tighten up the rhythm section.” You’re touched that the boys seem thoroughly on your side and understanding about your wishes, and while Harry’s revolt isn’t nice, you can’t say that it’s not entirely unexpected; you know full well what he’s capable of when he feels as though you’re not putting your all into the band, but you’re hoping that this time, given a genuine reason for your lack of input, and being in the same situation himself, he’ll cut you a bit of slack.

“And if you find any gig opportunities,” you continue from where Tom left off, “just organise them for after the exams. We usually get booked at least a week in advance, anyway.”

“But what if we need you sooner?” he replies, seeming genuinely worried. “We can’t start turning things down. That’ll be the death of us.”

“I really doubt that something would come along so soon that I wouldn’t be done with the exams by the time it comes around,” you say in an effort to console him. “It’s been a week since the Marquee Club gig, and we haven’t had anything else yet.” His shoulders slump with the reminder that, though you’d hoped that appearing at the Marquee Club would bring about some other opportunities, nothing else had come of it so far.

“Don’t have a strop, Harry,” Charlie scolds in jest, “we’ll be alright. Like you said, we can keep practising in the meantime, anyway.” As you’re trying to come up with something else to say that might comfort Harry, you feel Brian’s long fingers sliding between yours as he takes your hand.

“It might do you good to have a short break,” he offers. “Sometimes, when you come back, you end up full of fresh ideas. It’s happened with Queen before. In fact, we’ve been writing like mad since we stopped playing shows a little while ago.” He makes a good point, and as the other boys nod and recall the new tracks Queen had debuted at their own Marquee Club show, you find yourself looking at Brian with appreciation; he always tries to support you, regardless of what’s going on, and you couldn’t be more grateful for it. Momentarily recalling the way he’d shouted at Harry after the tea incident at college, you’re so glad that, in times when you find yourself without the usually constant support of your sibling and best friend, Brian is there at your side. Pulling your attention back to the room properly, you realise that the conversation has devolved slightly, and Harry has stopped talking, seeming to have conceded defeat.

“Two weeks is nothing,” Charlie remarks, unconcerned. “We’ll be raring to go as soon as you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” you reply, smiling at him, Dave and Tom, and they return it, evidently not offended in the slightest that you want to concentrate on your studies. Harry, though no longer protesting, is sitting with his arms cross defiantly, and you hope optimistically that he’ll come around.

The six of you hang around the Kensington Pub for a while longer, enjoying another drink and chatting about whatever comes to mind, and though the atmosphere is mostly relaxing, Harry’s continued silence serves to add a hint of unease. Eventually, you all get up to leave, sharing hugs and grins before parting ways.

“I’ll give you a ring when I’m free to talk,” you tell Brian, and he nods with a soft smile, bringing you in to hold you close.

“If Harry bothers you again,” he murmurs secretly in your ear, “please tell me.” You find your arms tightening around his chest as you savour his level of care for you.

“I will.” Parting reluctantly, the two of you share a lingering kiss before exiting the pub just behind the others.

“Anyone need a lift?” Charlie offers, having purposely not had too much to drink.

“Go on,” Dave replies, and Tom takes him up on the offer too.

“I’m only round the corner,” Brian points out with a grin, and Harry too shakes his head, piping up for the first time in quite a while.

“We’re in the opposite direction to you lot,” he says, nodding at your other bandmates, “but it’s only a twenty minute walk. Not the end of the world.”

“Okay,” Charlie confirms. “Talk soon, then!” You all share last-minute waves as the three of them head towards Charlie’s van, and Brian flashes you a gentle smile as he sets off on his very short, two street journey back to Sinclair Road. Wordlessly, you and Harry turn simultaneously, heading down the street in the opposite direction towards Holland Park, intending to use it as a shortcut. There is a small yet tangible tension between the two of you as you walk side by side, and you’re not sure what to say for a moment, but wanting to appeal to Harry, you speak up regardless.

“I’m really not chucking the band out, you know.” He doesn’t reply, which only makes you more anxious. “As soon as these exams are over, we can go full steam ahead. I think we should try and write some more material too.” Again, he doesn’t say anything in response, so you give him a moment, and thankfully, he finds his tongue once more.

“We just had all that talk about doing as much as we can to put ourselves out there,” he says, referencing how you’d raised his spirits before the Marquee Club show. “And now you’re pulling out.”

“Not permanently,” you insist gently, and he rolls his eyes.

“Okay, right, but it’s just…” You wait for him to continue after he trails off, but he doesn’t.

“I know how much you want success for the band, Harry,” you say honestly as the pair of you reach the entrance to Holland Park. “I want the same thing. It’s just bad timing at the moment.”

“I thought you were tired of studying?” he asks, and you have to admit that he’s right.

“I am, to be honest, but at the same time, we keep sneaking out and doing other things when we should be revising, and I think it was fine before, but so close to the exams… I feel a bit under-prepared. I just want to actually focus for a bit. You realise mum’ll kill us if we fail, right?” He meets your gaze at the mention of this, and the two of you share a disdainful expression; your mother’s wish for the two of you to get high level qualifications and well-paying jobs goes a little overboard at times, and while you understand why she wants it so much, you can’t say that you put as much importance on it, and Harry certainly doesn’t.

“She’s so annoying,” he whines, kicking a leaf on the ground in irritation as he walks.

“I feel like if we just get on with the exams, it’ll get her off our backs a bit,” you reply, an awful scenario forming in your mind. “We’ve both spent so much time in education – what if she makes us repeat the last year, or something, if we don’t do well enough?” It hadn’t occurred to you before, but if your mother thinks that the two of you aren’t up to scratch, she might well attempt to send you backwards, leading to yet another year of biology. It’s a situation that you don’t even want to entertain.

“I don’t give a shit,” Harry blurts in response, seeming thoroughly fed up. “I’ve had enough of learning. I don’t care about biology, it’s rubbish, and I’m no good at it anyway. It was only because of you that I started it.” Recalling the memory, you realise the full impact of the fact that Harry had never wanted to continue his education, already sick of the system as a teenager, and had only succumbed once more thanks to your promise that the two of you would spend all of your time together and get up to your usual sibling mischief if he came to Imperial College with you, in addition to keeping your mother’s disapproval at bay. After completing an entire degree, and then going on to battle through a post-graduate qualification, in a subject he doesn’t give a toss about, no less – no wonder he’s feeling frustrated.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” you murmur honestly, suddenly feeling somewhat guilty. “I didn’t mean to drag you through all this.” He seems to soften at your words, glancing at you with concern, before shaking his head.

“No, it’s fine. Mum wanted me to do something, and other than the times we had exams, she actually shut up for once. We did loads of stuff, anyway, me and you.” A faint smile flickers at the corners of his mouth, and you return it in relief, so glad to know that his anger towards his current situation isn’t directed at you. “I’ve just had it, sis. I’m not doing it anymore.”

“What do you mean?” you ask worriedly. “We’ve only got two weeks left. Just study with me, we’ll-“

“I’m not doing it,” he repeats, seeming resolute, and you realise that your mouth is slightly agape as you realise just how bothered he is by it all. “If I pass, I pass. If I fail, I fail. I don’t care anymore. I just want to make something of this band, so I don’t have to listen to mum going on and on about what’s important.” He frames the word ‘important’ by miming quotation marks with his fingers, delivering it with a snotty tone of voice. “We’ve got to be able to do this. There’s got to be someone out there who thinks we’re worth something…”

He falls into silence again, a sombre look on his face, as though he’s wrestling with a million thoughts in his mind, and you truly feel bad for him. In a way, it does highlight the difference between the two of you when it comes to education; when the pressure gets high, you put your nose to the grindstone and try to do your best, while Harry makes a beeline for the exit. It’s not entirely his fault, as not everyone has the disposition for studying to a high level, but you also know that he could try harder, if he wanted to. The now glaringly obvious fact that he really doesn’t want to is going to make things harder for him.

“Look, you can do whatever you want, Harry,” you say softly, wanting to comfort him. “It’s your life, it’s up to you. If you want me to help you get through the exams, you know I will, but if you’d rather I didn’t, that’s okay. I just know that I need to do this for me. I’ve not exactly enjoyed every moment of all this biology stuff, you know.” He exhales a dry laugh. “We’re just so close to the end now. I just want to make sure I haven’t wasted all that time. Once we’re out of that place, we can do whatever we want. Sod what mum thinks – let’s do the band full time.” Harry’s expression seems to suggest that he understands your point of view, but there’s also a hint of uneasiness that betrays the fact that he must still have a problem with your choice.

“I just don’t want you to stop the band,” he says, “even for two weeks. We can’t do it without you.” Despite his continued protests, you can’t help but appreciate the sentiment behind that last part, touched that Harry would never genuinely consider being in a band without you in it too. It makes his outbursts from a while ago seem so harmless.

“You don’t need to,”you reply seriously. “Two weeks isn’t a long time. If you four want to keep going while I’m not there, you can do whatever you want. Write new songs, try and find gigs, anything – you know I’ll come straight back once the exams are over, and you can show me everything you’ve done. I’ll learn it all straight away.”

A third silence falls upon the both of you, and as the sound of your footsteps fills your ears as you reach the end of your street, you feel a heaviness in your chest, wishing that things were simpler between you and Harry. He doesn’t speak any more, and stealing another glimpse of his face, you see that he doesn’t look angry at you, only disappointed. A grim sense of defeat washing over you, you hope that he’ll come to understand, and that it doesn’t become a sticking point between you. The pair of you turn onto the short path in front of your house, and you find yourself wanting some sort of comfort after the difficult conversation.

“Harry.” He pauses in front of the door, turning back towards you, yet not meeting your eyes, his hands stuffed into his pockets. You draw close to him, sliding your arms through his and around his waist, pulling him into a hug. For an awkward moment, he remains still in defiance, but to your relief, his irritation melts away enough for him to return it, wrapping his arms around your body.

“Don’t hate me, Harry,” you beg, enjoying the warmth of his chest against your cheek. “The band will succeed. We’ll prove everyone wrong.” He exhales a long, rough sigh, and you feel the rush of breath through his skin as it leaves his lungs. You aren’t sure exactly how things are between you now, but he utters one last sentence before releasing you and opening the door, giving you at least a shred of hope.

“I don’t hate you, idiot.”

__

Harry had retreated to his room after the two of you had arrived home, evidently wanting his own space, and you’d let him cool off, climbing into the comfort of your bed with some biology books and doing your best to take your mind off things and get on with what you’d caused such a fuss for in the first place. It’s only mildly successful, your worries continuing to swirl around your mind constantly in the background, and you find yourself wrapping your duvet around yourself, despite the fact that you’re not cold. Stopping to think for a moment, you laugh slightly when you realise that it’s probably because you’d like Brian’s arms to be around you right now, and with nothing else to simulate it, the duvet will have to do. You stay curled up like that for a while longer, before you’re forced to climb out of your cocoon by your mother’s exclamation that dinner is ready. When you enter the hallway, you glance at Harry’s door, expecting him to join you, but there’s no response, so you make your way downstairs without waiting for him. You’re seated with your dinner in front of you before he appears.

“So, how’s everything going?” your mother asks, before biting into a forkful of fish. You feel a bit strange as you open your mouth to reply, knowing that for the first time in months, your answer is going to be genuine, rather than an elaborate cover-up.

“It’s okay, although I’m a bit worried about the exams. I’m going to spend some more time at college, I think, just to make sure I’m revising properly.” The approving expression that lights up your mother’s face indicates that she’s pleased.

“It’s probably a good idea. They’re two weeks away now, aren’t they – the exams?” You nod in affirmation. “Not long to go now. Just keep at it. I’m assuming you’re still not seeing your band?” She directs the question at both you and Harry, glancing between you both, and Harry’s silence persists, so you answer for both of you.

“No, not doing anything. We’ll catch up with them after the exams are done.”

“Good,” she replies, satisfied.

“If it’s alright,” you add, remembering something that you’d been thinking about for a few days now, “I’d like to keep going to Sinclair Road. I was talking with Brian the other day, and I didn’t realise, but he’s good at biology too. I think he’s studied all the sciences at some level. I’d like to get some help from him, as well as Roger.” Despite the fact that your reasons for justifying your regular excursions to Sinclair Road had been completely fictional, you’re genuine in your explanation this time; Brian had mentioned knowing certain elements of biology from his previous studies that might prove useful in helping you revise, and to be honest, he’s much more academically-minded than yourself, or anyone else you know, in fact – even just having him with you will probably encourage you to study, as he’ll be doing enough of his own.

“Well, if you’re going to go there more often, I’d rather you didn’t stay the night,” she replies, a sternness creeping into her voice. “You’ve got enough to concentrate on.” Your initial reaction is annoyance, but thinking about it, if you can spend quiet time with Brian more often, then not spending the night isn’t such a bad compromise. Your main reason for both you and Harry to stay at Sinclair Road recently was to hide the fact that you’d been at concerts, either watching Queen, or playing your own, and neither of those things are likely to happen in the next two weeks now.

“Okay, I won’t. I can just go round sometimes after college.”

“Alright then,” she says, seeming to agree to the idea. As you cast your gaze back to your plate, you feel slightly giddy knowing that you and Brian will probably see each other on a slightly more regular basis. “And what about you, Harry?” She turns her head curiously when he doesn’t answer, and looking up from your food, you start to worry again as you watch him staring into his plate, looking quite agitated. He seems to take a large breath, before stabbing through his half-eaten fish with his fork, biting off as much of it as he can fit into his mouth, and standing up from the table.

“Harry?” The call goes unheeded, and to the surprise of both you and your mother, he leaves the room, his footsteps thudding heavily as he jogs up the stairs, his bedroom door shutting audibly a moment later. An awful mixture of guilt and worry weighing in your stomach, you hope that it hadn’t been something you’d said that has triggered whatever is happening in Harry’s head now. Your mother turns back to face you, looking confused and shocked. “What’s wrong with him?” On her end, it was a simple enough question, but for you, it causes a lot of thoughts to swim around in your mind, the memory of your earlier conversation with him replaying tangibly. Unsure of yourself, but also knowing that it’s not a good idea to expose both Harry’s distaste for the exams and the fact that you’ve secretly been working on the band this whole time, you end up shaking your head and feigning ignorance.

“I don’t know.”

__

Eyeing the train of bodies coursing through the corridor, you examine it closely, keeping your eyes peeled for Brian; it’s been a few days since Harry had left the dinner table so suddenly, and each day since, communication has been minimal between you. You still don’t get the feeling that he’s cross with you, but probably just irritated by the whole situation in general, not wanting to put any effort into his revision and frustrated that the band is essentially on hiatus for two weeks. You’d hoped that the two of you could at least spend some time together during college, but despite the fact that he had accompanied you there each morning, he’d immediately gone off to do his own thing, not wanting to meet for lunch or go home with you. This had often led to him returning home late, much to the chagrin of your mother, who had done her best to pry, without many good results. He’d also not wanted to study with you after dinner, saying that he had his own things to do, and part of it makes you think that perhaps he doesn’t want to distract you, since you’re now fully focused on revising, whereas he couldn’t be further from it. You’re very unsure of his motives, though, and can’t fully figure out what it is that he’s thinking. It’s been a little uncomfortable, but you console yourself with the fact that the two of you aren’t at odds like you had been before, at least. There’s been no arguments or tea throwing.

A rush of relief comes over you as you finally spot Brian’s towering form appear from around the corner, and he notices you easily, heading over. You’d asked him last night over the phone if you could meet up for lunch, as you’d been feeling a little down about the way things have become, and could really use his companionship. Naturally, he’d agreed immediately, and you’re grateful for his attentiveness. He extends his arms out towards you as he approaches, and you go to him, holding him tightly as he hugs you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, seeming to sense your unease.

“Yeah, things have just been a bit weird since we were at the pub the other day,” you admit, withdrawing to look him in the face. His eyebrows furrow slightly in concern.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he says, gently encouraging you to turn around and enter the sandwich bar, “and you can tell me about it.” Once the two of you are seated with your food, you almost feel reluctant to talk about Harry, feeling as though you should fill your precious time together with happier things, but Brian evidently wants to know what’s going on, so you fill him in. He listens intently to your description of Harry’s withdrawal from both you and your mother, and the fact that you only see him briefly each day now.

“He’s not said anything horrible to me,” you’re quick to add, making sure that Brian knows that this is not a repeat of last time. “He’s just really quiet now, and wants to be on his own.”

“Well, if he really is so opposed to the exams,” Brian muses, “then I’m not surprised that he doesn’t want to spend much time around you or your mum. He won’t want to be reminded of everything he’s not doing.” You nod, knowing that it’s probably very likely. “As for the band,” he continues, “well, we know what he was like last time he thought the progress was in jeopardy. He really doesn’t have much patience, does he?” You release a heavy sigh, admitting it fully to yourself; you can be quite impatient yourself sometimes, something that you and Harry share, but he has developed a much shorter fuse than you over recent times, and in a way, you hadn’t properly acknowledged it until now.

“I can see why, though,” you say. “If he doesn’t want to get qualifications, and probably isn’t keen on getting a regular job either, then the band is all he’s got. I should be surprised at him being upset over me delaying things.” Brian finishes the mouthful of sandwich he’s chewing, before looking at you seriously and reaching across the table to touch your hand lightly.

“It’s not your fault, though,” he insists softly. “It’s not all on you. Just because you’re the one that wants to be serious about the exams doesn’t make you the bad guy.” He raises his eyebrows as he gives you a look that suggests that you’d better believe his words, running his thumb over the back of your hand as he does so. Touched, you shift your hand to grasp his, squeezing it gratefully, before letting it go so that the pair of you can continue eating. “Besides,” he adds, looking thoughtful, “I can understand that feeling exactly. I’ve been struggling with my thesis for some time now, because I’m so focused on Queen. I know that my parents aren’t enamoured with how much effort I put into it, as they don’t want me to be distracted from my studies, but I still feel called to anyway. Harry’s not alone in that.” The two of you fall quiet for a moment, just eating and thinking, and it strikes you just how similar and polar opposite Harry and Brian are at the same time. Both of them crave music over anything else, and would be seriously agitated if their bands got taken away from them somehow, but at the same time, Brian understands the merit of all his hard work so far, and is trying to see it through regardless, whereas Harry couldn’t care less.

“I just hope he doesn’t completely throw in the towel,” you say worriedly. “I can’t imagine how bad mum’s wrath would be if that happened.”

“Well, if he does, it’s his own fault,” Brian states, “but maybe he just needs to hear that he’s not the only one feeling the way that he does. Have you had that conversation with him?”

“Yes, I told him the same day of the pub that I understood how frustrating it is trying to keep pushing yourself academically when your heart’s not fully in it, but I don’t think it made much impact. I’ve always been a more enthusiastic student than him – well, maybe not enthusiastic. Obedient, probably.” The two of you share a wan smile, and Brian’s expression suggests that he’s of a similar ilk.

“Well, maybe I should say it?” he suggests. “If it would benefit him to know that he’s not on his own, but doesn’t believe his sister, then perhaps hearing it from someone else might make a difference?” You’re surprised that Brian would offer to have a heart-to-heart with Harry, as the two of them aren’t incredibly close, and Brian’s definitely still a little wary of him after the whole tea incident. He really is a decent person.

“You don’t have to do that,” you reply, “but thanks, I appreciate it.” The two of you finish your meals, aware that lunch time is unfortunately coming to an end. “In other news,” you add, remembering a little silver lining from that day, “we might be able to see each other more often.” You tell Brian about your plan to go over to Sinclair Road, genuinely to have a quiet place to study this time, and ask if he might be able to help you in places.

“I’ll certainly give it a try,” he confirms with a smile. “I’m guessing I don’t need to give you another lecture about electrons?”

“No,” you emit clumsily through a laugh that you hadn’t prepared yourself for, “I’m all set for that!” Sharing a fond gaze across the table, Brian looks happy to see you smile again.

“Come here,” he asks, holding his hand out to you, and taking it, you stand up from your chair, going around his side of the table and taking the empty seat next to him on his suggestion. Apparently undeterred by the large amount of other students in the room, he pulls you close to him, enveloping you in a comforting embrace and stroking your hair. It feels so wonderful, you don’t want him to ever let go.

“Try not to think about Harry too much,” he murmurs quietly against you, his voice resonating through his body and into yours. “It’ll be alright.”


	23. Looking Round To Find The Words To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Harry had made his distaste for the upcoming exams clear, you've been a little worried about how his uncaring outlook will impact things. As it turns out, it's only going to get stranger from here.

Your bag feels especially heavy today, as you haul it up onto your shoulder; tonight, you’re heading to Sinclair Road with Brian after college, in a genuine attempt to get some help with your studying, or at least get someone else who’s scientifically-minded to test you on your knowledge, since Harry’s no longer of any help. Due to this, you’re taking more books than usual to college, and your shoulder is already complaining at the weight. Ignoring the dull ache, you make your way downstairs, catching sight of your mother sitting in the living room.

“I’m off now, mum.”

“Okay, love,” she replies with a smile, “don’t forget to tell me all about your studies with Brian when you get home. Don’t be too late!” You nod in confirmation, and just as you’re opening the door, a set of thundering footsteps comes rumbling up behind you. Glancing backwards, you see that Harry is rushing down the stairs at speed, seeming to want to get away from something.

“Bye, mum,” he blurts flatly as he approaches you, and you realise that he’s trying to avoid a scolding, or at least further instructions to be more diligent with his studying. Acting on instinct, you exit through the open door, and it had been a good idea to get out of his way, as he barrels through it quickly himself, swinging it shut behind him with a loud bang. You just about manage to catch the very beginning of your mother’s protest before it closes, silencing her as Harry had hoped for. Deciding not to bother challenging him about it, you turn and start to head towards the bus stop, and he catches you up after a few steps, walking at your side. You look expectantly up at him, but he doesn’t say anything, simply lengthening his stride in order to get away from the house more quickly.

“Not in the mood for a lecture?” you ask, trying to inject some humour into the moment, and he rolls his eyes.

“Definitely not. Not from her or the professor.” He gazes around as he walks, looking fed up, as if he doesn’t really want to be going to college any more than he wants to stay at home.

“What are you doing today, then?” you question. “I’ll probably go to a couple of seminars, but I need to get better at memorising things, more than anything. I can do that in the library.” While Harry doesn’t make a noise to convey his disdain at the idea of attempting to learn, it’s still clearly visible on his face.

“Well, I probably won’t see you there,” he sighs. “I’ve got better things to do.” Considering that the band doesn’t seem to have anything on the cards now that you’re taking a break, you can’t imagine what ‘better things’ Harry could be doing. Having reached the end of the street, you both come to a halt at the bus stop, waiting for one to come along.

“Have you planned anything with the boys?” you quiz, hoping to encourage him to have at least something to focus on, even if it’s not academic. “I am honestly fine with you lot practising and doing things while I’m not there, if there’s something you want to do.” Harry does look thoughtful for a moment, but it fades rather quickly.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he muses, “but I’m not sure. It doesn’t really seem right doing stuff without you.” He’s evidently sticking to his wish not to participate in a band that doesn’t feature you, and it’s heart-warming and concerning in equal measures. Without any discipline at college, and no band activities to get involved in, you’re not sure what such an unfocused Harry would end up spending his time on. The bus then roars into view, interrupting your thoughts, and you and Harry get on, paying your fares. You take a seat next to him, grateful to put your heavy bag down for a bit.

“Not looking forward to dinner,” Harry states gloomily, and you instantly know why; dinner time is your mother’s usual opportunity to check up on the two of you, prying into everything you’ve been up to, and what you’ve been doing towards your exams.

“No, I don’t blame you,” you reply honestly, knowing how annoying her probing can be, even when you’re doing a good job.

“She had a right go at me the other day,” he informs with another eye roll, “going on about how precious education is, and blah blah blah. Not making the most of it, all that crap.” His eyes take on a tired glaze, like a world-weary old man, and despite the fact that it’s his own negligence that’s put him in this position, you do find yourself feeling a bit bad for him nonetheless. “So that’s gonna be fun, trying to dodge more questions.”

“She goes over the top, I know,” you say apologetically. “I’m lucky tonight, I get to escape all that. I’m going to Brian’s after college.” Harry makes a loud, throaty noise, like a half-suppressed laugh.

“To do what, revise?” He meets your eyes for the first time this morning, shooting you a suggestive look that makes you grin, evidently convinced that you’re only going to Sinclair Road for, ahem, extra-curricular activities. You pass the look back to him.

“Yeah, I really need some more pointers on those electrons, you know?” He sniggers briefly, and you enjoy the way his face brightens slightly, having seen nothing but a grimace on the journey so far. “No, I’m actually going to get Brian to help me. He pretends that he’s only good at physics, but we all know that’s not true. I’m quite sure he knows enough biology to help me out, at least a little bit.” Harry doesn’t respond, so you glance over at him; he’s no longer turned towards you, instead staring out of the window at nothing in particular as the bus makes its way towards Imperial College. Wondering what caused him to lose interest, you try to keep the conversation going.

“You could tell her that you’re coming too,” you suggest, trying to appeal to his distaste of being questioned by your mother. “Just tell her we’re both studying. You’d probably get back into her good books that way. You don’t actually have to – you can just hang out.” Your offer hangs in the air awkwardly, unanswered, as Harry continues to gaze at the passing scenery silently, and a sense of unease comes over you, unsure of what he’s thinking. “You know I won’t tell on you.” You nudge his leg with your own as you say so, trying to provoke a reaction, but none comes until a whole minute later, when Harry shakes his head in an almost defeated way.

“I’m alright,” he says in a melancholy tone, keeping his eyes on the traffic outside, and you lean back in your seat, a little worried. The rest of the bus journey is silent, and even as you’d walked into college together, you hadn’t managed to get a single word more out of him, other than the obligatory one he’d uttered just before disappearing into the crowd.

“Bye.”

__

You feel a little strange standing at the entrance to the main college building on your own; you’re usually heading home with Harry by your side, but you have a different destination today, and not only that, but after you’d lost sight of Harry once the pair of you had arrived this morning, you hadn’t seem him since. A large part of you is wondering what he’d got up to while you’d been working on things, but accepting defeat, you accept that you’re probably not going to find out. Suddenly jarred from your thoughts, you jump slightly as a hand touches your back gently.

“Alright, love? Ready to go?” Brian’s voice comes as softly and warmly as usual, and it’s such a welcome sound, glad that he’s here to distract you from your worries.

“Yeah, sorry,” you reply sheepishly, “I was in a world of my own then.” The two of you begin to make your way towards the bus stop you’d arrived at this morning, except this time, you’ll be heading in a different direction from home.

“Did you have a good day?” Brian asks with a smile, and you return it.

“Yeah, it was alright. Looking forward to being at yours, though.” He puts an arm around your shoulders in response, and you allow yourself to be pulled against his side, doing your best to match your step with his as you walk. “I can’t be home too late though,” you add, “so I think I’ll-“ Your sentence is interrupted by a loud voice coming from behind the pair of you, drowning you out, and it makes you both turn your heads simultaneously to see the culprit.

“Go on then, lovebirds!” You’re disturbed to see that the perpetrator is in fact Harry, stalking up behind you with a glare on his face. The realisation catches you completely off guard, and you find yourself simply staring at him in confusion, wondering why on Earth he’d decide to suddenly jeer at the pair of you like that. He moves surprisingly quickly, veering across the path behind you and maintaining his disapproving eye contact with you alone, not Brian. “Go and get your books out! Be a good girl for mummy!” He spits the words at you just as loudly as he’d shouted a moment ago, despite being much closer to you now, and before you can even pull together a response, he begins to head in the opposite direction. Completely bemused, you feel Brian’s body shift against you as he turns to face Harry’s fleeing form.

“If you’ve got a problem, Harry-“

“No, don’t,” you plead, pulling at Brian’s arm in an attempt to persuade him to leave the situation alone; whatever the hell that was about, Harry’s evidently not up for having a discussion about it. It’ll be much easier to ask him what’s wrong once he’s calmed down. If you tried to talk to him now, he’d just be childish and rude about it. He glances back at the pair of you momentarily upon hearing Brian’s words, but continues on his way, heading across campus. Looking up at Brian tensely, you’re surprised that he would attempt to confront Harry like that; he had shouted at him once, in response to the tea incident, but on the whole, Brian is a very quiet and passive person, preferring to reason with someone gently as opposed to getting into an argument. He hadn’t seemed very aggressive when calling after Harry, but it had still caught you by surprise, although you suspect it might have been because of you; if Harry had been berating him alone, he might have let it go unpunished in order to cut the confrontation short, but since the childish comments had been directed at you, perhaps he’d felt a need to stand up for you. Unsure what to think, about anything that just happened, you keep your arm looped with Brian’s, starting to walk back towards the bus stop, and thankfully, he follows, leaving Harry to his own devices.

“Did something happen between you two?” he asks, looking bothered, and you shake your head honestly.

“Not since the other day, when I told him I wanted to put a hold on band activities, and even then, it wasn’t an argument. We were talking this morning, although-“ Casting your mind back to the scattered and somewhat awkward conversation the two of you had had on your way to college, you recall that it hadn’t been exactly normal. “-it was a bit weird.” Brian regards you with concern as the pair of you arrive at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus that will take you to Sinclair Road. It feels odd waiting at this one, instead of your usual stop across the road.

“What do you think’s bothering him now?” Brian asks. “Do you think he’s thinking the same things as before, when he was really rude to you?” Remaining quiet for a moment, you sincerely hope that that’s not the case, but unfortunately, Harry’s outburst seems to suggest that something similar might be happening.

“I hope not, but I can’t tell. I know that he’s really had enough of college, and I think he just spends most of his day wasting time, doing god knows what. I think because the band isn’t doing anything at the moment, he’s feeling really restless. So I suppose he’s probably just lashing out because of that.” You know how ambitious Harry is, and how impatient he gets when he doesn’t make any real progress for a while, and since biology isn’t something he wants to excel at, the band is probably his only focus. With that on hold, he probably feels as though he’s got nothing to do, and nowhere to go. Even still, you can’t overlook the fact that he was incredibly immature just now, unnecessarily so, and it makes your stomach bubble with a terrible mixture of anger and nerves.

“Well, there’s no need to be so rude,” Brian remarks, putting his arm around you again as he relaxes somewhat. “I don’t like to see him talk to you like that.” He puts a gentle pressure on your shoulders, inviting you to step closer to him, and a little burst of affection cuts through your tension as you appreciate his care and protection. You move closer, leaning your head against him, and he rubs your arm in comforting strokes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you reply, making an effort to shrug off the agitation, “I just want to forget about it, for now.”

The two of you resolve to do just that, and the bus journey to Sinclair Road passes without another mention of Harry. Having arrived and been greeted by Roger and his ever-present grin, the three of you are now sitting on the sofa, Roger eyeing your biology work curiously as Brian tests your memory.

“Alright,” he continues, regarding one of your books intently, “in a sample of water, how would you isolate an endospore forming bacteria from other microbes?” You have to force yourself to look at your knees to reduce your amusement after catching the look of horror on Roger’s face after hearing the question.

“Erm, well, you could heat the water up to a high temperature, which would kill the microbes, and then put the sample on a plate and let the bacteria grow?”

“Yes, that’s the idea they’re looking for, I think,” Brian confirms with a nod, “although they might expect you to clarify the temperature of the water. I’m not sure if that’ll count against your mark or not if you leave it out.”

“Oh, right,” you acknowledge, “it’d be over 80 degrees, then.” Brian nods again, his curls bouncing in place, before moving onto a different question.

“What class of enzymes is used in washing powder to remove stains?” Before you can answer, Roger decides to interrupt.

“Is it electrons?” He delivers the purposely incorrect answer with a playful smirk on his face, fully understanding how stupid it had been, and both you and Brian start to laugh, despite your efforts to stay focused.

“No!” you yelp, reaching across Brian to bat Roger’s arm in mock scolding. “It’s proteases!”

“Correct,” Brian says through a chuckle, regarding Roger as he pretends to shrink away towards the arm of the sofa in defeat.

“It’s no wonder you didn’t get a good grade if you think electrons are a type of enzyme,” you remark jokingly, and Roger giggles with mirth, a cheeky look on his face.

“You two are giving me flashbacks with all this! I’m gonna have a breakdown in a minute!” The three of you try to calm down and get back on track, but then an unexpected knock comes at the door, distracting you further. “Oh, that’s for me,” Roger exclaims, standing up and heading across the room, and Brian shoots you a puzzled look, evidently not in the loop. Roger partially disappears into the hallway as he greets the guest, and then comes back into view, leading a girl with lengthy brown hair into the room by the hand. After considering her for a moment, you think you’ve seen her here before, when Roger and Brian had had some friends over.

“This is Josephine,” Roger introduces, and as he reminds her of your names, you wonder at the relationship between the two of them, as he hadn’t bothered to introduce her before. The two of them make their way over to you, taking seats in the chairs opposite, instead of squashing onto the same sofa as Roger had done before. Beginning to sense that the quiet atmosphere you’d been studying in is about to be broken, you look at Brian, knowing that he’s probably thinking the same thing.

“Shall we leave it there for today?” you ask, and he nods with a laugh, closing the book he’s holding and placing in on top of the pile you’d brought with you.

“I suppose so.”

“We did a good hour,” you remind him. “You were more help than I’d get at home!” Although the comment had been light-hearted, you get an ominous feeling in your gut at the thought of what might be waiting for you at home, and push the thought out of your mind, content to distract yourself with the boys and Josephine for now.

“Shall I put some music on?” Roger asks, already standing up in anticipation of the affirmative answer, which is easily given. As he heads across the room to shuffle through the record collection, Josephine smiles at you somewhat shyly.

“Haven’t I seen you here before, at some point?” she asks you, and you nod, your earlier realisation clicking properly into place.

“Yeah, I thought I recognised you,” you reply, returning her cheerful gaze.

“How long have you been a couple?” she quizzes, looking between you and Brian, and for some reason, the question causes you to blush slightly, not often needing to reference your relationship, as your usual company is all too familiar with your background.

“About three months, isn’t it?” you muse, looking at Brian for confirmation, and his eyes flick upwards towards the ceiling momentarily as he thinks.

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Josephine smiles again, seeming interested, and you can’t help but indulge your curiosity.

“So, are you and Roger..?” You leave your question open-ended, just in case you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, but Josephine glances over at Roger, who is in the process of putting a record on, a somewhat fond expression appearing on her face, before looking back towards you.

“Yeah, I think so,” she replies, a hopeful optimism to her tone, and you share her grin, understanding that it must be very early days for them, if they’re becoming a proper couple. You’ve seen Roger hang out with several girls, yourself included, of course, but never linked him with one specifically in your mind, as he’d tended to float around, not attaching himself to anyone in particular. It seems as though this might be about to change, though, and you find yourself feeling pleased for the pair of them, hoping that they’ll get along well together.

Roger reappears, taking his seat again with a grin, and the raucous riffs of Led Zeppelin fill the air from the record player, to everyone’s approval. The four of you relax and chat about whatever takes your fancy, and you snuggle into Brian’s side, thoroughly enjoying the peaceful atmosphere in comparison to the tension caused by Harry’s weirdness earlier today. You’re halfway through the record when Roger suddenly pipes up with an idea.

“Do you know what? I’m bloody starving,” he announces, rousing giggles from you all. “Have you eaten?” He asks the question to the room in general, and you answer first.

“No, I came here straight from college, and dinner will be over by the time I get back home. I told mum not to make me anything.”

“No, I haven’t either,” Brian adds, and Josephine shakes her head too.

“Do we have any money? I really fancy some fish and chips!” The second the words leave his mouth, it seems as though everyone else in the room starts to salivate at the same time, suddenly craving the same thing.

“Oh, best idea, Roger,” you enthuse with a laugh, opening your bag to locate your purse. Brian slides himself down the sofa slightly to dig into his pocket for change, and Roger and Josephine also follow suit, scrabbling around for money to put towards the food. You pool your cash together, agreeing that it should be enough to cover a meal for each of you.

“Right, what does everyone want?” Roger asks, glancing between you all and waiting for an answer.

“I’ll just go for the classic, I think,” you reply with a grin. “Fish, chips and mushy peas, please.”

“What are you getting, Roger?” Josephine asks, and as she’s not quite as hungry as the rest of you, they agree to share a meal.

“Brian?” Brian hums in contemplation, seeming a little uneasy all of a sudden.

“Are we all going together?” he asks, and Roger shakes his head.

“Nah, us two can bring it back,” he replies, looking at Josephine, and she nods in agreement. Brian still struggles to answer Roger’s question.

“Something bothering you?” you ask him quietly as Roger retrieves his jacket, and he looks a little bashful as he replies.

“Well, I would get the same as you, but I keep thinking about the whole meat thing.” His words transport your mind back to Queen’s celebratory night out, when he’d mentioned that he’d been having some guilty feelings about eating animals, and it’s evidently still in his thoughts. “I feel like maybe I should eat less of it, but I’m not sure.” Brian can be quite opposite at times, as with certain elements of his life, he works towards what he wants without question, and then with others, he seems too shy to step out of normality, or what’s expected. It’s a noticeable juxtaposition of the ambitious and timid sides of his personality.

“If you’d rather not eat it, then don’t,” you reply encouragingly, wanting him to feel good about his decisions. “You can do whatever you like, Brian. Don’t worry about anyone else.” He meets your eyes as you beam at him in what you hope is a comforting way, hoping that it’ll bring about some conviction in him, and it seems to work at least a little, as he returns your smile.

“Okay,” he muses, “well, they do pies at our chippy, don’t they?” He directs the question at Roger, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, the coins jingling beneath his fingers.

“Yeah, definitely,” he replies, and Brian nods.

“Alright, can you see if they have a cheese and onion one? If not, well, just get me the usual, I suppose,” he adds, leaving the fate of his dinner in Roger’s hands.

“Roger that,” Roger responds with a dumb grin on his face, laughing at his own joke, before putting his arm around Josephine and escorting her towards the door. “Be back soon!” The door closes behind them, and Brian regards you with a fond expression, his fingers playing with a strand of your hair.

“Thanks for saying that,” he says quietly, seeming a little shy once more. “I think I tend to remember what my parents always say about not wasting meat, the lectures they used to give me. I sort of automatically just go with what they’d expect me to do.” Understanding him completely, you lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek.

“I know. I’m more than familiar with doing as your parents expect, trust me!” The two of you share a knowing smile, and shift a little closer to each other on the sofa. “I just think that if you feel strongly about something, you should do it,” you add. “As much as parents have expectations, I think you need to do what makes you happy, at the same time. If it’s not for everyone else, well… stuff ‘em.” You smirk after sharing your opinion, not entirely sure if Brian sees it the same way, but the look he gives you suggests that he appreciates what you’ve said.

“That’s one of the many things I like about you,” he murmurs, running his thumb over your cheek, and you instantly feel your face flush. “You don’t back down, do you?” A little flustered, you avert your eyes for a second, your skin burning under his touch; sometimes, he manages to say things that render you almost speechless with how sentimental or meaningful they are, and you can never quite prepare yourself for it.

“I suppose not,” you reply, once you’ve recovered a little. “I don’t like to be held down. I’m going to finish my exams, but once that’s over, I don’t think I’ll be listening to whatever my mum wants for me. I’m not sure what I’ll want to do, but I’ll make sure I do it regardless.” You almost catch yourself off guard with your own speech, as you hadn’t really given life beyond college much of a thought yet, focusing on the current task at hand, but as the words hit the air, they do feel right somehow. Realising this, you note to yourself that you probably have even more in common with Harry as you’d originally thought, which was a lot to begin with.

“That’s exactly what I admire about you,” Brian says, almost at a whisper, his eyes practically twinkling as he gazes down at you with adoration. The feeling it brings causes a sudden burning sensation to swell within your chest, and you find yourself leaning into him almost subconsciously. He meets your lips with his own, eager yet gentle, and the two of you become further entangled as you wrap your arms around each other, shifting your weight until you’re almost sitting in his lap. The kiss deepens, and you relish the feeling of being here, far away from Harry and your mother, alone with Brian, basking in the joy of his affection, and how much you return it.

The pair of you remain entwined until the sound of approaching footsteps tells you that Roger and Josephine have returned, and breathing airy laughter through smiles, you kiss one more time before reluctantly separating yourselves in an attempt to look decent.

“Dinner’s ready!” Roger announces jovially as the pair of them walk in, brandishing bags full of food. Placing them onto the table, they begin to fish out the parcels, handing them to the appropriate person. “This is ours,” he muses as he plonks a bulging bundle of newspaper down, delving into the bag for the next parcel. “Here’s yours,” he says, handing it to you, and you thank him eagerly, reminded of just how hungry you are. He leans across the table, holding the last parcel out towards Brian. “And one cheese and onion pie!”

“Oh, great,” Brian emits in response, taking the parcel from him, and you nudge him gently, as if to congratulate him on being able to indulge in his would-be vegetarian ways. He exhales a quiet chuckle, and you all unwrap your parcels, digging in hungrily. There isn’t any more chatter for a minute or two, as you’re all so absorbed in your food, but eventually, Roger speaks up.

“So yeah, you two were giving me a right scare with all that biology stuff earlier,” he jokes, pointing at the both of you with his fork. “I was rubbish. Well – at least I stuck around longer for biology than I did for dentistry.” Josephine looks up at him in surprise.

“You did dentistry?” Roger rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, hated it though,” he replies. “I suppose I wanted to do something that’d get me a well-paying job, but I just couldn’t hack it.” You laugh to yourself, noting that it seems as though abandoning the idea of well-paying jobs is the running theme of today. “Besides, I don’t think the professors liked me much.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, expecting a sarcastic response, but Roger goes on to tell a story instead.

“Well, do you remember, we were still in Smile back then, way before Freddie, and we had those stickers made?” He looks at Brian as he speaks, and Brian nods.

“Yes, I remember those. Our logo was a big smiling mouth with a glint on the teeth,” he embellishes for you and Josephine, who are less familiar with that period of their band.

“Yeah,” Roger continues, “well, I had Smile on my mind so much, I put one of those stickers on my dental anatomy folder.” Both you and Josephine start to giggle at the admission, and Brian shakes his head with a grin, clearly remembering the fact.

“And they didn’t marvel at how cool you were?” you ask in jest, knowing that the truth will be very different.

“No,” Roger guffaws just before filling his mouth with fish, “they weren’t very impressed!”

__

After enjoying your meal and having a few more giggles with Brian, Roger and Josephine, you’d had to pry yourself away from the fun and reluctantly head home. Just before you’d left, Brian had once again asked you to let him know if any more unpleasant business happens with Harry, and you’d agreed, the thought of him darkening your mood somewhat. You’d actually managed to mostly forget about his outburst, thanks to your good company, but now that you’re about to be under the same roof as him again, your annoyance at his childishness begins to spark back up, causing you to want to give him a piece of your mind. Opening the front door warily, you relax for a moment as you see that the living room is empty.

“Is that you, love?” Your mother’s voice calls from the direction of the kitchen, though you can’t currently see her.

“Yeah, just got back from Brian’s,” you confirm, and turn to face her as she emerges into the living room.

“Did you have something to eat?”

“Yeah, Roger went to the chippy for us,” you inform.

“Oh, nice. Get some work done?”

“Brian was quite helpful, actually,” you reply honestly, pleased that he could help you out. “He’s really smart, mum. Sometimes, I wonder if he’d take the exams better than I can, and he’s never even specialised in biology!” You feel your cheeks tingle slightly as you think about him, always in admiration of his mental capabilities.

“Sounds like quite the catch, then,” your mother laughs in response, and you giggle at the fact that Brian seems to automatically become more favourable in her eyes simply at the mention of his academic prowess. However, her pleased expression drops a little, more quickly than you’d expected, and she looks a little worried as she speaks again. “Did you and Harry go to college together this morning?” The question immediately makes you feel a sense of foreboding, somehow.

“Yeah, we got the bus together,” you reply, “why do you ask?”

“Well, I was talking to him about his studies earlier, and he didn’t really have a straight answer for what he’d been up to today,” she informs, looking pensive. “I thought perhaps he’d gone somewhere else when he’d left the house.” Despite your own disdain of your mother’s somewhat over-protective ways, you find yourself feeling bad for her as her brow crinkles in genuine concern.

“Well, we walked into college together,” you say. “I didn’t seen him again after that. Well-“ The memory of him shouting at you and Brian as you’d left the building pops up in your mind again, and you fight to push it back down. “-he did leave at the same time as Brian and I did. We saw him near the bus stop.” You purposely leave out the unpleasant incident, seeing no point in bringing it up to her, and she nods, seeming slightly reassured, though still a little tense. “Why? What did he say?”

“He’s just not been himself for the past few days, don’t you think?” she asks, her shoulders slumping. “He hasn’t had much of an answer about anything recently, and he wouldn’t tell me what he’d been doing today – I’m guessing he didn’t go to Brian’s with you?” You shake your head, and she sighs audibly. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You feel your stomach clench uncomfortably, as you know exactly what’s going on with him, or most of it, at least, but feel as though it’s not right to tell her, or rather, concerning his lack of care for the exams, it’s not your place to say. That does leave very little to comfort her with, though, and you swallow your guilt and try to get around it.

“I think he’s just stressed about the exams,” you say. “I don’t think he feels like he can do it. I’ve told him many times that it’ll be okay. Maybe it’s best to leave him to it for a bit?” Your mother’s brow furrows more deeply at the suggestion, and you know that she’s having trouble with the idea of giving either of you more space. “He might feel better if he doesn’t feel so crowded.” Eventually, she nods, pursing her lips.

“Possibly. I’m not sure what to think. Anyway,” she adds, her tone of voice lightening slightly, “you get on with things. Don’t worry about that.” She forces a smile, rubbing your arm affectionately, and you reach up and squeeze her hand, willing some strength towards her; regardless of how over-protective she might be, she’s probably worrying a lot more than she lets on, and you can understand it. As you head upstairs, your irritation with Harry grows even more, now that you can see how he’s got your mother on edge, and before you can get your thoughts in order, you find yourself opening the door to his bedroom without knocking first. He looks up at you in alarm, mid way through strumming something on his guitar, and the two of you lock eyes for a long moment, neither of you speaking, before you pull yourself together.

“Do you think it’s alright to piss people off like that?” You’re aware that you sound like an angry teacher, or something similar, but in your rage, you don’t particularly care. The sentence had been in reference to both what he’d said to you and Brian, and the fact that he’d given your mother the runaround and caused her to worry so much. You’re not entirely sure how eloquently that came across, but the words are already out of your mouth now. Harry freezes in place for a moment, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, before sliding his guitar onto the bed in front of him.

“I’m sorry, sis.” The words are so unexpected, you think you’ve misheard him for a second, but as his posture crumples slightly, you realise that he had, in fact, apologised. “I didn’t mean it.” The blazing argument you’d anticipated having not come to fruition, you stand there in the doorway, completely taken aback for a moment, before you can drum up a reply.

“What’s your problem, exactly?” you ask in a steady voice, neither friendly nor antagonistic, and he contemplates his bed sheets as he replies.

“I dunno. I just got annoyed.” That much is obvious, and you’re about to ask him what about you caused such a reaction, but he beats you to the punch. “Won’t you come back to the band?” He looks back up at you, and even more disconcerting is the look in his eyes; sad and pleading, like a little lost child. You’re not sure what to say. “I can’t do this biology crap-“ He reaches across to the small table next to his bed, grabbing a biology textbook from it and throwing it across the room as if to demonstrate his point. It hits the opposite wall, sliding down to lay neglected on the carpet, its pages now bent and misshapen. “-I just want to do the band with you.”

“Harry,” you begin, but your brain can’t catch up with your mouth straight away, and you leave the word hanging as you think; everything about this is unfamiliar in comparison to how you and Harry operated as siblings throughout your childhood. Yes, there were little arguments, but they were always harmless, and diffused almost as quickly as they’d started. You’d always been on the same team, and when one of you was having a problem, the other sibling served as their ultimate confidant and best friend. Things had never become as rocky as this, Harry yo-yoing between wanting you by his side and berating you the next, and his recent accusations and insults haven’t really been based on much truth, either. It all makes you feel very unsure of yourself, not knowing the best way to get through to him, and considering the fact that you’d always respected each other’s decisions in the past, you can’t understand why Harry won’t let you just take these two weeks away to achieve your goal. You can appreciate his feelings about biology and the band, but to have such an aversion to your wishes is strange for him, and it makes you feel very confused.

“You don’t have to do biology,” you say at last, getting your thoughts together as well as you can. “I told you, that’s your decision. I know it was me that asked you to go to college with me, but you’re not that person, are you?” Harry’s expression suggests that he knows exactly what you’re referring to. “You’re not a swot. You’re not academic, and you don’t have to be. It seems a shame to quit so close to the end, and I know mum’ll flip, but still, it’s your life.” He displays a very small smile at this, and you breathe a sigh of relief that he seems to appreciate what you’re saying. “But I just need you to wait for me. We will do the band, we will work hard – harder than ever. I just need two weeks to get this done, and then we never have to think about college again! God knows I don’t want to.” You survey Harry’s demeanour as you speak, hoping for some understanding, but he doesn’t really give anything away. “Okay?”

He doesn’t respond, staring at his feet wordlessly, and you wait for a moment, expecting him to speak again eventually. To your surprise, the moment really doesn’t come, the two of you hanging in the awkward silence in a disconnected way, and Harry still doesn’t say anything. It makes you think of people giving someone the silent treatment, as they call it, to guilt-trip them into doing things their way, but at the same time, it doesn’t seem quite as malicious as that – Harry appears to be genuinely sad. The air in the room grows even more dense with tension, and deciding that you can’t stand here forever, you break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” you say honestly. “Just give me two weeks, that’s all. We’ll play more gigs, we’ll write more songs, we’ll do whatever it takes to move forward. Just two weeks.” Again, he doesn’t speak, or acknowledge your words in any way, as if you hadn’t said anything. Bemused and at a loss for anything more to say or do to change the situation, you turn to leave, moving slowly in the hope that he might call you back, but he doesn’t, and as you close the door behind you, the hallway dark without the light from his room spilling into it, you find yourself feeling strangely alone.


	24. You Bring Me Down, You Shout Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time for your final exams, and while Brian and Roger have been helping you out wonderfully, Harry has continued on his path of detachment. Unfortunately, things are about to get rather uncomfortable for everyone involved, and it leaves you wondering if the relationship between you and your brother will ever be the same again.

“You’ve just got this bit wrong,” Brian says gently, leaning the book he’s holding over to you and pointing to a diagram. “It should be this one, not that one.”

“Oh, right,” you reply, realising your mistake, “got you.” It’s a Saturday, and with only a few days left before your exams begin, you’re continuing to revise and test your knowledge as much as you can; the time you’ve spent at Sinclair Road has been valuable to you, both academically and for relaxation, as Brian and Roger are always good company, and it’s kept you on track and relatively focused. The only thing that’s been niggling at the back of your mind is Harry, as he doesn’t seem to have changed much since he’d shouted at you and Brian that day at college, and then glumly apologised for his behavior; you haven’t seen too much of him, other than the nights you’ve eaten dinner with him and your mother, and occasionally in the morning, when he’s actually headed to college with you. The conversation has been awkward, and if anything, he’s doing less towards both the exams and the band than ever. You’ve tried your best to get on with things, to varying degrees of success, but on the whole, you’re glad that the exams are so close now, as you can’t wait to get them over and done with.

“Do you want to do a couple more of these,” Brian asks, nodding at the book in his hands, “since you didn’t get the last one?” You shoot him a wry smile.

“Yeah, I suppose I’d better.” He smiles, turning the page over and choosing an exercise for you to complete, and just as you start to contemplate the question, Roger appears around the corner, having just come down the stairs.

“Anyone fancy a drink?”

“Oh, coffee please, Rog,” you reply enthusiastically, craving a caffeine fix to bolster your studies, now that he’s mentioned it.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Brian answers with a smile, and Roger nods, heading into the kitchen. You turn your attention back to the exercise in front of you, your ears faintly picking up the clinking of spoons and cups from the kitchen. The atmosphere in the flat is nice and peaceful, so it serves to shock you even more when there’s a sudden knocking at the door, loud compared to everything else. You and Brian both start slightly, turning your heads in unison to gaze at the door, but as you consider getting up to answer it, Roger comes striding out of the kitchen, having nothing to do but wait for the kettle to boil, anyway.

“You expecting anyone?” he asks the pair of you, and you both reply negatively, the look on his face growing more puzzled.

“Oh, neither am I. Strange. Maybe it’s Freddie.” As he heads towards the door, you muse that it might well be Freddie, as he can have a tendency to show up unannounced on occasion. Due to this, you’re even more surprised when Roger opens the door to reveal Harry, having no idea what he could be doing here.

“Roger!” he exclaims cheerfully, shaking his hand and slapping him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

“Oh, alright mate?” Roger replies, seeming just as confused as you are.

“Yeah, sorry about the sudden appearance,” he says, stepping into the flat as Roger closes the door. “Just fancied popping round.” Something strikes you as being very odd as you watch him speak; he seems bizarrely jovial, too much so, in a way, and it’s not really in his usual style, causing alarm bells to start ringing in your head. Turning to you and Brian, he plasters a grin across his face that seems somewhat false.

“There you are,” he remarks, striding over and taking a seat opposite the sofa. “Having a nice time?” He smiles as he looks between the two of you, and though he’s being pleasant, there’s something almost creepy about it – it feels completely put on, and makes you feel as though the person sitting across from you is not actually your brother, but a stranger. The atmosphere in the flat suddenly becomes very uncomfortable, and you can tell from Roger’s expression and the way Brian stiffens his posture slightly that they can both feel it too.

“Just going over some stuff,” you reply, trying to act normally and encourage him to do the same. “Almost exam time, now.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, rolling his eyes, “mum’s been telling me to revise properly for days. In fact, that’s why I’m here! This is the place to be, after all.” He leans across the table and picks up the first book he can reach, opening it to a random page. “Right, do this one,” he instructs, holding the book closer to his face. “If a solution has a pH of 6.78, how can we discern, based on the sheer amount of shits I don’t give, how much of a loser my sister is?” He looks up at you with a stupid grin on his face, as though he’s just said the funniest thing in the world, but the only thing that becomes apparent is how childish he’s being.

“You’re the loser, Harry,” you reply, coolly but darkly, trying not to give him the rise that he’s evidently looking for, since he’s clearly only here to disrupt your afternoon and get in your way. “We’re trying to get something done here – can you leave us alone?”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” he remarks, leaning back in the chair and making himself comfortable, as if to impress the idea that he’s not going anywhere. “You shouldn’t talk to your older brother like that.” Taking a deep breath, you do your best to squash the anger that’s building up inside you; you don’t know why he’s being so antagonistic, or what he’s trying to achieve, besides some stupid self-gratification, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of having riled you up.

“Harry, mate,” Roger chimes in from behind him, still standing awkwardly in the room instead of going back into the kitchen to make the drinks. “Just relax, yeah?” Harry swivels in his chair to face him.

“I am relaxed,” he replies, “I’ve just come to watch the freak show! These puppets are great-“ He casts a hand towards you and Brian. “-they do exactly as their masters tell them to!” Feeling your blood begin to boil, you bunch your hands into fists as you try to control your anger.

“If you’ve got nothing productive to say, then get out,” you say, not loudly, but with enough authority to cause everybody in the room to look at you. Your face feels hot from the attention, but you carry on talking anyway. “No one wants you here if you’re going to be so childish.” Your words only seem to spur Harry on with his act, a grin spreading across his face.

“You sound just like mum,” he notes. “I wonder if you’ll end up as miserable as her, too?”

“Oh, fuck off, Harry.” You’d opened your mouth to send a sharp retort his way, but whoever had spoken had beaten you to it, and it takes you a moment before you realise that it had been Brian; he glares at Harry, his eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, and you feel strangely off-balance that he had really sworn like that – you’ve never heard Brian say ‘shit’, or ‘crap’, even. It had sounded quite alien in his soft voice, and caught you thoroughly off guard. The shock silences you for a moment, and you simply gaze at Brian as he continues to address Harry.

“Don’t be so fucking ridiculous,” he spits, the familiarity of his tone of voice still present, but with an uncharacteristic firmness behind it. “If you’re going to act like that, then you don’t belong here.” Even Harry seems taken aback by Brian’s sudden foul mouth and confrontational stance, but he quickly recovers his composure, seeming glad of the extra fuel to power his ego trip.

“Nice boyfriend, sis,” he says witheringly, looking at you, and ignoring Brian as if he hadn’t spoken. “Fucking terrifying. Like a Rottweiler, or a…” His eyes slide back over to Brian’s form, tracing the outline of his curls in an over-exaggerated manner. “…poodle.”

“Shut your mouth!” you yell, your patience finally wearing out, and just as you’re making to stand up, Roger acts for you, closing the gap between himself and Harry’s chair, and grabbing his arm gently but firmly.

“That’s enough, Harry,” he says seriously, and Harry ends up co-operating as he encourages him to get up out of the chair, walking him awkwardly towards the door. As he opens it, a million things rush through your mind that you want to scream at Harry, all just as rude as the next, but realising that that’s not going to help things, you try to shake them off.

“Take a good look at yourself, Harry!” you end up shouting after him as he exits, just wanting to get something out, and as Roger shuts the door behind him, locking it to ensure that he doesn’t reappear, you all seem to take a collective sigh of relief.

“I’m really sorry,” you find yourself saying to both Brian and Roger, suddenly feeling guilty for being the reason that Harry had come over uninvited and ruined the atmosphere you’d been enjoying, even though it hadn’t exactly been your fault. Brian and Roger seem to believe as much, as Brian takes your hand in his, lacing the fingers and stroking the back of it with his thumb, while Roger comes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to you, placing a warm hand against your back.

“Don’t worry,” Roger says gently, “that was all him, not you. What the hell’s going on with him?” Your free hand comes up to rub your eyes in frustration.

“A lot.” You don’t feel as though you have the strength to go into it right now, and thankfully, Roger doesn’t press the matter, seeming to understand.

“Well, it’s not good, that’s for sure,” he states, “but don’t worry about us, and don’t worry about him either, if he’s gonna be like that – just get on with what you need to do. That’s more important.” You glance up at him with as much of a smile as you can muster, appreciating his consideration. “I’ll get you that coffee,” he adds, slipping off the arm of the sofa and heading back to the kitchen, probably to boil the kettle all over again, as it must have gone cool during the confrontation. Still feeling somewhat guilty, you turn to Brian, clutching his other hand.

“Brian, I am sorry. I can’t believe he insulted you like that-“

“It’s alright.” Brian prises his hand back out of yours, only so that he can brush your hair away from your face, stroking your cheek tenderly. “You don’t need to apologise. I can handle it. He’s just full of hot air, anyway. I’m not bothered by it.” He turns your chin upwards gently so that you have to look him in the eyes, and his gaze is compassionate. “I’m only bothered when he’s upsetting you.” Feeling strangely sad, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he understands your need for comfort, drawing you into a warm embrace.

“I don’t like this,” you admit worriedly. “This isn’t like before, when he started being weird. This is something else.” Feeling a little overwhelmed, you just want to not have to think about Harry for a while, so you fall silent, enjoying the way Brian traces little lines of pressure up and down your back with his finger.

“Talk to your mum,” he suggests. “You’re not responsible for him, especially when he’s being that rude towards you.” You hum in contemplation, unsure of whether it would do any good or not. Over Brian’s shoulder, you see Roger re-emerging with a cup of coffee in each hand, so you slowly pull away from Brian, meeting his eyes in a silent ‘thank you’, and he smiles in acknowledgement.

“Here,” Roger says, sliding your cup across the table towards you, before settling into a chair with his own. “Well, do you think Harry achieved anything in his tiny little brain, pulling that stunt?” You can tell that he’s trying to make the situation humorous, and sorely wanting to not feel terrible anymore, you try to join in after taking a sip of your coffee.

“He did manage one thing,” you reply, and as the boys look to you questioningly, you fix your eyes on Brian with a small smile. “You said ‘fuck’.” Roger immediately snorts in amusement, while Brian tries unsuccessfully to suppress a sheepish grin. “Twice.” You giggle slightly at his expression, allowing yourself to relax a little, and Roger grins at Brian in a way that almost suggests that he’s proud of him. Brian simply shakes his head with slight embarrassment, taking your hand again and leaning back into the sofa.

“He deserved it.”

__

The house is quiet, other than the sound of cutlery tapping against plates, and the odd bit of conversation; you’d arrived home from Sinclair Road a little while ago, anticipating some sort of scene when you’d inevitably come face to face with Harry, but he hadn’t shown himself, choosing to hide in his room. Still angry at the way he’d insulted Brian, never mind yourself, you’d stayed away from him, not wanting to bother having any fruitless conversations – you doubt he’d have it in him to apologise after being so brazen in his rudeness. You and your mother are now sitting down to eat dinner, and despite her calling up the stairs to Harry, he hadn’t joined you. Right now, you couldn’t care less, glad to be able to enjoy your meal without having to put up with him.

“Are you all set for the exams, then?” your mother asks, looking hopeful.

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply honestly, “I’ve been doing quite well. I shouldn’t have too much trouble with them.”

“Brilliant,” she exudes with a smile, and as you look more closely at her, you realise just how much relief is on her face; she must be pinning most of her hopes on you, now that Harry’s motivation to learn is essentially non-existent. That puts an extra layer of pressure on you, in a way, but if your decent progress can put her mind at ease a little, then it’s alright with you.

“I think I’ll get to college a little early on Monday,” you tell her, making small talk as you both eat. “It’ll give me time to find which hall I’m going to for my first exam, and then I can just sit and go through things before I go in.”

“Good idea,” she replies approvingly, “and make sure you get a good night’s sleep tomorrow, so you’re not tired.”

“Will do. In fact, you can help me out by having a nice big cup of coffee ready for me, if you like!”

“Cheeky!” The two of you laugh lightly, and you find yourself half hoping that she actually does make you a pre-exams coffee – you’ll need it. Contemplating your knife and fork as you cut into your food, you’re suddenly caught off guard by a third voice in the room, belonging to the last person you’d want to talk to right now.

“Loser.” The sharpness of Harry’s tone jolts you like an electric shock, and you snap your head upwards to look at him as he stands behind his usual chair; you hadn’t noticed him arrive at all, completely unaware of him walking into the room, but perhaps the laughter, coupled with your downward gaze, had served to mask his entrance. He looks at you with another one of his smug grins, and everything from this afternoon floods back into your mind, causing you to want to throw something at him.

“Hey, shush,” your mother scolds quietly, glancing at him with a hint of annoyance, before turning her attention back to her meal. Harry pulls his chair out, sitting down in front of his own food, which must be half cold by now, and as he continues to regard you as if you’re highly amusing, you do your best to ignore him, taking another bite of food. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the end of Harry’s act.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, almost looking serious for a moment, before his sly grin falls back into place. “You’re awfully quiet when you don’t have that bloody poodle with you.” The dig at Brian goes too far for your patience, and without even meaning to, you burst up out of your seat in anger, glaring at him with rage in your eyes. The force of how quickly you’d stood up causes your chair to tip over backwards, hitting the floor with a loud thumping sound. Your mother starts at the noise, as though someone had cracked a whip.

“Hey, now, just stop it!” she reprimands the two of you, raising her voice considerably and glancing between you both. “What sort of time is this to be having stupid arguments, right before the exams?” You’re almost frozen in place as you fix Harry with a hard stare.

“She’s the stupid one,” Harry quips, looking incredibly nonchalant as he picks at his food.

“Really?” you ask sarcastically, growing more and more outraged at his bad attitude with each moment that passes.

“Yeah. Hanging off the end of Brian’s cock isn’t going to make you any smarter.”

“That’s enough of that language!” your mother cries while batting his arm, seeming just as upset as you are with him. “And sit down!” she adds, turning her gaze to you, which serves to shatter your blood lust somewhat, and you comply, setting your chair back upright and plopping down onto it. “Honestly,” she huffs, her voice dropping in volume, “I don’t know what sort of problem you have with each other, but there are much more important things going on than your silly fighting. Pull yourselves together.” Clearly flustered, she stabs her fork into a potato a little too forcefully in her upset.

“Don’t worry, mum,” Harry says cheerfully, standing up and picking up his dinner plate. “I can solve this problem.” He then proceeds to walk out of the room, carrying his dinner upstairs to his bedroom. Your mother tries to call him back, but to no avail, and you’re not sure if you’re glad that he’s gone or not; part of you wants him to go away and never come back, and the other part wishes he would stay there so that he can get scolded further. Your mood completely ruined, you sigh heavily as you put your focus back onto the remainder of your food.

“What is it?” your mother asks in a somewhat grim tone of voice, and you look up at her questioningly. Her mouth is practically a straight line as she frowns, seeming very serious. “It’s Harry, isn’t it?” she continues. “What’s he doing now?” You’re slightly surprised that she doesn’t seem to be blaming you for the drama, as you and Harry have both tended to be equally guilty in starting the occasional, inconsequential spat between the two of you over the years, but this time, it seems as though she’s starting to understand that something serious is going on with Harry, and that this is not one of your usual ten minute disagreements.

You find yourself putting down your knife and fork and inhaling deeply, unsure of where to begin, and how much to divulge; in a way, the band-related side of Harry’s issue isn’t something she necessarily needs to know, as you’re all too familiar with her disapproval of the two of you being involved with that kind of activity in the first place, so if you bring it up now, she’ll probably see it as a much bigger element of the problem than it is. However, you’ve had it up to the eyes with Harry by now, and honestly want to just share your frustration with her. Bearing all of this in mind, you concede to tell her about half of the truth.

“Harry told me he doesn’t care about the exams,” you admit, regarding your plate as you speak, as you don’t want to see your mother’s shock and disappointment as you give her the unfortunate facts. “He said he’s always hated biology, and only did it because I asked him to go to college with me, when we first started it.” Reminded of those early days, you feel a pang of sadness as you realise just how different things are becoming now, such a contrast from how you and Harry had been basically inseparable all this time. “He’s just had enough, and doesn’t want to work anymore.”

“He’s going to do the exams, though, isn’t he?” she asks, her voice high and slightly shaky, and you fix your eyes more intently on the table, trying not to picture the almost panicked look that must be on her face.

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly, unsure of whether Harry will even bother, considering the way he’s acting. “I’m pretty sure he’s not fussed about graduating.” There’s an uncomfortable silence, during which you continue to stare at a half-eaten piece of carrot, somehow unable to coax yourself to look your mother’s dismay in the face. Knowing what she’s like, you’re quite sure that she’s having something of a breakdown in her mind, all of her hopes and plans for Harry crumbling around her. Eventually, she speaks again, her intense worry still evident in her voice.

“And what about you? Why does that mean he’s having a go at you, all of a sudden?” Knowing that she’s referring to the scene he’d caused before retreating to his room, you feel your body sink further into the chair in gloominess at the thought of it.

“I think he wants me to do the same as him,” you say, choosing your words carefully in an attempt to make sure that you don’t bring the band into it. “He seems to hate how I’m taking the exams seriously, as if I’m doing something wrong. He was actually really rude to Brian and Roger today. I was furious.”

“I can’t believe he said what he said before,” she remarks, referring to Harry’s suggestion about you and Brian having sex, right in front of her.

“Just so you know,” you find yourself saying, embarrassed, but wanting her to know the truth of your recent visits to Sinclair Road, “that’s not what we were doing. We’ve genuinely been revising together, with Roger too. Harry came over uninvited and starting having a go at everyone out of the blue.” Feeling a blush rising in your cheeks, you keep your gaze averted, but you notice through your peripheral vision that your mother relaxes slightly.

“No, I trust you,” she replies softly, and at this, you finally manage to look up at her, appreciating the hint of a smile on her face, and returning it. “I think you’re doing fine. It’s Harry I clearly need to be worrying about.” Regarding her troubled expression, you feel bad for her, as even though she tends to get too caught up in the idea of you and Harry being high-achieving students, she’s obviously rattled by this, and probably wondering if she’s failing as a parent. Feeling sorry for the both of you, you straighten your knife and fork, laying them more neatly across your plate, not in the mood to eat the remains of your meal.

As the two of you sit in silence, lost in your own thoughts, you begin to hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Permanently wary of Harry by now, you brace yourself for whatever extra drama might be about to happen. Both you and your mother glance at him as he enters the room, crossing over to the table to pick up his empty glass, having not poured himself a drink when he’d first come down to dinner. As he turns to go to the kitchen, you relax a little, glad that he hadn’t thrown another insulting comment your way. However, it seems as though he was simply pausing for effect, as he swivels back around to face you with an expression full of ridicule.

“Sorry!” He sneers the word as sarcastically as possible, making sure you’re certain that he doesn’t mean it, and as he continues to saunter into the kitchen, your mother suddenly gets up from her seat, following him quickly.

“Now, just what the hell’s going on with you?” she shouts, evidently having had enough of his behaviour. “What’s all this about not caring about graduating? Do you understand how important this is, Harry? Your sister is doing a good job of preparing for the future, and you’re just throwing all of your efforts away!” He ignores her while she speaks, getting himself a drink as though she isn’t even there, and as you watch the one-sided argument unfold, you feel a strong desire to be anywhere but here. “Answer me, Harry!” she wails, upset and offended. “I don’t even know what to think about you, these days. Your attitude is disgraceful!”

Feeling a little overwhelmed, you slip from the table, unnoticed by the pair of them, and make your way up to your room in order to be somewhere more quiet; the last thing you want is to be involved in another confrontation, and Harry is acting like such a stranger to you that you just don’t want to see him. Closing your bedroom door against the noise of your mother shouting pointlessly, you exhale a held breath and try to convince yourself that none of that matters right now – all you need to concern yourself with is passing the exams. That will have to be your focus, and if there’s going to be such discord in the house, you’d better stick to it diligently if you’re going to get through it all.


	25. I Get Afraid Of Losing My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for the first two of your exams, and you're feeling very uneasy, not just because of the pressure to do well, but also because your brother has refused to make amends with you. Will he even take the exams? When everything becomes clear, you're incredibly grateful to have Brian at your side, and the relationship between you ends up deepening.

The textbooks you’ve been poring over intensely for weeks lay across your bed, looking up at you eagerly, and despite the fact that you’ve genuinely revised as much as you possibly can, you can’t help but scoop them all up into your arms, forcing them into your bag; today is Monday, the day of your first two exams, and everything feels a little strange and tense, due to the anticipation. It’s potentially a little too early to be heading out, but as you’d mentioned to your mother a couple of days ago, you want to get there slightly ahead of time to give yourself some head-space and collect yourself before the first exam, as well as locate the hall you’ll be taking it in. As you retrieve a jacket from your wardrobe, you remember being pleasantly surprised last night, when Freddie, Brian and Roger had all called you up to wish you luck, the latter two sharing the phone awkwardly, much to your amusement. It had brought a little humanity back to things, as yesterday had been full of nothing but seriousness, equations, exercises and preparation.

Buttoning your jacket, you cast around the room, satisfied that you have everything you need, and swinging your once again heavy bag up onto your shoulder, you make your way into the hall. Just as you’re about to descend the stairs, you find yourself pausing inexplicably, and at first, you aren’t sure why – have you forgotten something? After thinking for a moment, and turning to go back into your room, you realise that it’s not a thing that you’re feeling lost without, but a person.

Your eyes fall onto Harry’s bedroom door, still closed against the world, and a myriad of feelings flood into your mind; he’s been horrible these past couple of weeks – truly horrible. First there was the awkwardness, as though the two of you had suddenly become the most casual of acquaintances, not knowing each other well enough to converse easily. Then came the moodiness, the stupid name-calling, swiftly followed by melancholy apologies, and then the worst part. The blatant insults, dramatic scene-making and purposeful mocking of both you and those around you, people who are supposed to be his own friends, too. This vindictiveness, this childish bullying, is not representative of the person you’ve known Harry to be all these years, and it makes everything all the more painful, knowing that everything is changing for the worst.

Harry has always been hilarious, caring and happy-go-lucky, and though his temper could be short at times, it was usually for a justifiable reason, and on top of that, he would never purposefully hurt his own sister. In fact, a considerable amount of Harry’s shouting fits during his younger years had been in protection of you, from other children who’d dared to pick a fight. Harry had always been your best friend, and regardless of how awfully he’s been acting recently, it’s that fact that’s causing you to stand there in the hallway, letting your head-start to the day slowly tick away as you wish that things were different. Now that you’re thinking about it, it feels completely wrong to be heading off to your exams without your brother by your side - you were meant to be in this together.

Cursing yourself for being so soft, you tread hesitantly towards his door, and after pausing to contemplate the situation, raise your hand and knock gently. A few seconds pass, but there’s no answer. Sighing, you imagine that he’s probably still asleep, not even attempting to bother getting ready. You knock again, more loudly, and still – nothing.

“Are you coming, or not?” you ask in something of a shout, your emotions beginning to well up, catching you off guard. “Please, Harry.” Your pleas are met with more silence, the air thick with your own tension. “I’m scared.” The words left your lips before you realised what you were saying, and the realisation of it makes you feel even more vulnerable; yes, you’re about to take very important exams, but the thing that you’re scared about is not the prospect of failing them, but the idea of potentially losing your brother for good. Biting your lip and trying to pull yourself together, you open his bedroom door without warning, not caring that you’re barging in without permission. Ready to drag him out of the door with you, if that’s what it will take, you’re met with shock and disappointment when your eyes take in the scene.

The room is exactly as it always is – messy and unorganised – yet without its main component; Harry is not here, and your surprise causes you to wheel around, searching for him in confusion, until it sets in that he’s really gone. Unsure of what to make of the situation, you stand deep in thought, wondering where he could have gone so early – could he have decided to get a head-start, like you? No – after everything he’s said recently, he wouldn’t suddenly decide to turn everything around and become a diligent student, right at the last second. That would take too much effort and consideration. Standing there in the quiet of his empty room, you feel an awful sense of loneliness washing over you as you realise that your pleas to him from outside the door had gone unheard, when you’d thought that you’d been showing him the vulnerability that only he gets to see. The gloom rising in your mind, like a thick fog, you accept that there’s nothing more that you can do for Harry; wherever he is, he’s made his choice, and whether that leads to successful exams or not, it’s out of your hands. Exhaling in defeat, you turn on your heel and head downstairs, not wanting to be in the depressing room any longer.

“Are you heading out now?” Your mother’s question practically flies at you as soon as your foot leaves the bottom stair, and as you look up at her worried expression, you realise that she must have been waiting to say goodbye.

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to raise your tone of voice to something a bit more cheerful, “I’m all set.”

“Great,” she says with a nod, smiling tensely, and though you feel as though you should probably drop it, you can’t help but ask.

“Did you… see Harry this morning?” A shadow seems to rest behind her eyes as she hears your question, and you know it’s not good news.

“I didn’t see him,” she answers, “but I heard him. He left very early, and didn’t seem to want to be noticed.” Unsure of what he’s up to, but suspecting that it’s not a good thing, you simply nod in acknowledgement, a silence falling upon the room. However, determined to stay optimistic and help your mother feel better, you force a smile, trying to act indifferent.

“Well, I’ll be going now,” you say almost cheerfully. “Wish me luck.”

“You know I always wish you luck, in everything you do,” she replies, seeming to warm a little, and closes the gap between you to pull you into a hug, something that’s been quite rare between you over the past few years. It’s a little awkward, but at the same time, you wrap your arms around her in gratitude of her support, and also to try to comfort her too. Once the pair of you withdraw, sharing a smile, you feel yourself slip into ‘business mode’ – it’s time to do what you need to do. Saying your goodbyes, you take a deep breath and step out into the Spring air – alone.

__

The campus is oddly hushed as you cross the entry way and head into the main building, and it’s no surprise, as many students have their first set of final exams today. Heading down the corridor, you don’t even need to try to figure out where the schedule is, as a large congregation of people are gathered around an announcement board up ahead, chattering in an excited clamour. You join the back of the group, scanning the notices until you spot the ones that apply to you, memorising the halls you need to go to for each exam. As if to verify the information, two girls you recognise from last year’s biology class split from the group, heading in the direction of the first hall, and you decide to follow suit, just wanting to get to where you need to be in plenty of time.

Striding along after the girls, you notice that your mind is in a bit of a whirl, and you let your feet carry you along until you arrive outside the hall; many chairs have been arranged to line the corridor to allow students to sit down while they wait for the exam, and as you’re slightly early, there are still quite a few seats available. You sit down, grateful to be able to take the heavy weight of your bag off your shoulder, and glance around. The two girls then look your way, recognising you and waving with friendly smiles, and you return it, before they go back to their conversation. You feel so strange, sitting here by yourself, that when someone approaches to take the free seat next to you, you almost find yourself moving away from them, feeling as though you don’t want to be with anyone right now if it’s not Harry. However, the feeling is quickly dissolved when you raise your head to look them in the eye, seeing someone you really hadn’t expected.

“Brian?”

“I came to wish you luck,” he says quietly, lowering himself into the chair and pulling you into a hug.

“You did that on the phone last night,” you point out, slightly amused, but mostly in a state of confusion – what is he doing here? As his current work consists of a thesis alone, he can take as much time as he needs, and also isn’t required to attend any lectures, only coming into college to use the library’s resources. He’s not among the faces you’d imagined you’d see on the brink of your exams, first thing in the morning.

“I know I did,” he replies, withdrawing to look at you with affection, “but I wanted to say it in person. Besides, I didn’t want you worrying.” He averts his eyes for a moment, a little bashful, and you feel some of the tension you’d been carrying in your body start to drain out at how much he cares. “I can stay until you go in,” he continues, his lovely hazel eyes moving back up to meet yours. “How many exams do you have, again?”

“Two, today,” you inform him, and he nods, remembering what you’d told him last night.

“What time is the second one? Do you have time for a break in between them?”

“Yeah,” you muse, calculating times in your head. “I should be able to have lunch before the second one, actually. It might be a bit early, but I should probably have something to eat then, otherwise I won’t be able to concentrate in the second one.” Brian nods with a smile.

“Alright, so, can I meet you here once the first one’s done, and we can go to the sandwich bar?” You find yourself smiling fondly at him, touched by how he’s focusing on you in your stressful time.

“You don’t have to make your whole day revolve around me, you know,” you reply, already knowing what sort of reply he’ll give, and he doesn’t let you down.

“I know that,” he laughs, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “I want to. I want to make sure you’re alright.” Unable to help yourself after the unpleasantness of this morning, you fall into him, enjoying his warmth and how tightly he wraps his arms around you – you’re so glad he’s here. After a few quiet moments, during which the both of you simply enjoy the embrace, he speaks again, softly.

“I was also worried that Harry might be making things difficult for you again.” The sentence causes a cloud to threaten to darken your good feelings. “I see he’s not here.”

“I went to get him this morning,” you tell him, trying not to remember it too vividly. “He was already gone. I don’t know where.” Brian doesn’t speak, but one of his large hands rubs soothingly up and down your back.

“Never mind him,” he murmurs, the wonderfully intimate edge to his voice making you feel calmer. “This is about you now.” As you pull away from Brian to sit upright properly, you notice that the corridor has filled up considerably, every seat now taken, and the noise level raised with anxious voices sharing their worries. As the buzzing energy begins to surround you, you feel a lurch in your stomach that you’re not too accustomed to feeling, and almost want to laugh at yourself.

“Do you know, I’ve been so focused on everything else, that I haven’t actually had time to worry, but now that I’m here, I’m actually nervous.” You shoot Brian a sheepish grin, amused at how your mind seems to have only just truly cottoned onto the fact that you’re minutes away from sitting an important exam. Brian chuckles lightly.

“What can I do to help, then?” Looking up at him with affection, you giggle internally, knowing exactly what you’d like in this moment.

“Well, you could start by giving me a good luck kiss.” His cheeks flush slightly at the suggestion, but he leans in towards you, his hand finding yours as the both of you close your eyes. Although it’s just a single kiss, you seem to gain a sort of power from it, a dose of courage to face your upcoming trial with. Separating with smiles, the two of you enjoy the closeness of the moment, before you resign yourself to the idea that you should probably do something sensible.

“Okay, next,” you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out a textbook, “you can test me one last time before I go in. This one’s about biochemistry, so ask me stuff about that.” Pressing the book into his hands, you smile as he complies, opening it and perusing the pages for appropriate questions to quiz you on.

Despite the fact that the corridor is bursting with nervous students, all waiting for the same thing, you feel a quiet solace as you reel your answers off to Brian, as though the two of you are more alone than you actually are. You’re still nervous, of course, but Brian’s helping to take the edge off it, and you’re really thankful for it. You continue to review the material together, until at last, the door to the hall opens, one of the biology professors emerging to inform you all that you can enter and take your seats – the time has come. Feeling a jolt of nerves, you take the book that Brian returns to you, shoving it back into your bag and rising from your seat as he does, hugging him quickly, before he leaves.

“I’ll be out here,” he reminds softly, “I’ll wait for you.”

“Okay,” you reply gladly, kissing his cheek. “I’m sorry if the exam runs over time, for some reason.” He shakes his head with a smile, as if to suggest that it doesn’t matter how long you might keep him waiting, and you drink in the sight of him once more, already looking forward to seeing him again. He strides away, squeezing past the rush of students now coursing down the corridor towards you in order to enter the hall, and taking a breath to steady your nerves, you turn and join the flow.

Everybody repeats the actions of the person in front; place your bag at the back of the room, retrieving your pens and other required supplies, and then find your desk and sit quietly until it’s time to begin. It’s relatively easy for you to find your allocated seat, as the students have been arranged in alphabetical order, and once you spy the desk with your name on its label, you sit down, placing your supplies neatly to the side of your exam paper. There’s still a subtle rumble of hushed talking as people continue to file into the room, and trying not to worry too much about the task ahead of you, you take a moment to glance around the room, spying quite a few people you know, old classmates and acquaintances.

Before long, the room is full of seated pupils, fidgeting with their pens and readying themselves. As you’re taking in the large group one last time, before you’re inevitably told to keep your eyes on your papers, you spot the one thing that’s not in line with everything else, sticking out like a sore thumb; one lone empty desk sits to your right, unoccupied, and as your eyes fall upon the name on its label, you feel a horrible sinking in your gut – this is Harry’s desk. This is where he’s supposed to be right now, by your side as always. It pains you to have to admit to yourself that this is the final nail in the coffin – he’s not coming. He’s thrown it all away.

You wrench your gaze away from the vacant chair, forcing yourself to look at your own desk and do everything that you can to forget about the anguish you’re feeling. However, before you can get very far with it, you notice that one of the exam invigilators is heading your way, a large book in his hands. For a moment, it looks as though he’s simply passing by on his way to do something, but a nervous bubbling begins to brew inside you as he turns towards you, snaking through the desks until he reaches yours, addressing you by name.

“Yes, Sir?” you reply politely, trying to keep your voice down.

“I see that your brother, Harry, has not arrived on time,” he notes, his tone of voice similarly soft, so as not to cause a disturbance in the quiet room. “Do you know anything about this?” It feels as though a rock has dropped into your stomach, and you have to swallow another well of sadness before you answer.

“I haven’t seen him this morning, Sir.” The invigilator looks at you with a somewhat investigative expression, seeming to read into your tense demeanour and at least partially get the gist of what’s going on. Glancing briefly at the book in his hands, now that you can see it more closely, you realise that it’s the register; all of the names must be ticked off, except for Harry’s.

“I see. Are we to assume that he won’t be attending the exam?” You get the idea that he already knows your answer before you voice it.

“I think that might be the case.” He nods in acknowledgement, thanking you with a curt smile, and makes his way back towards the front of the hall, snapping the register shut as he goes. Exhaling a deep sigh, you once again fight to keep your head full of biology and empty of troubles, though it is proving difficult.

Thankfully, you’re called to attention by the hall doors closing, and the invigilator turning to face the room, joined now by a second professor. They give an opening speech, running through the rules and regulations, and during the moment that hangs tensely before their final words, you fill your mind with Brian’s image, his warm smile and gentle encouragement, and will it to help you through. Your finger and thumb pinch the corner of your exam paper, ready to turn it over and get to work as best you can, and a dense silence falls over everybody, disturbed only by the phrase you’ve all been waiting for.

“You may begin – now.”

__

When the door to the hall finally opens once more, it acts like the starting gun of a race; the exam over, everybody snaps out of their biology-fuelled reveries and back into the real world, standing up to retrieve their things as you’re all excused. It had seemed as though you’d been in there forever, disconnected from the rest of the college as you’d tried your best to answer the questions on the paper, and although you can’t truly get a sense of how well you might have done, you’re glad that it’s over, feeling a little dazed.

Standing up, you curse yourself as your eyes fall onto Harry’s empty desk again, his exam paper facing down, untouched, and try once more to shake off the awful feeling it gives you. After reclaiming your bag and packing your things back into it, you hoist it up onto your shoulder, a slightly giddy feeling developing in your chest as you realise that Brian must be out in the corridor waiting for you. Once you manage to file out of the door, alongside several other students who seem just as excited for a break as you are, you spot him almost instantly, his conspicuous mass of hair visible above the heads of the others, exaggerated by his height. Making your way over to him quickly, you feel yourself start to relax as it properly sinks in that you don’t have to worry about the next exam for an hour.

“Hello, love,” he greets softly as you press yourself into his arms, “how did it go?”

“Hard to say,” you admit, “but I think it was alright.”

“Good,” he replies with a smile, “shall we go?” Nodding in confirmation, you let Brian lead the way as the two of you escape the busy corridor, still buzzing with students leaving the exam hall. Once you get further away from the bustle of activity, walking the quieter hallways, the energy feels a bit more comfortable, an air of normality starting to wash back over you. However, as you and Brian turn onto a corridor that leads to the stairs you need to take, a sound you hadn’t expected to hear tickles your ears, distant but tangible – it sounds like guitars.

“Do you hear that music?” Brian asks, evidently having noticed the same thing, and you nod in reply.

“Is someone actually playing?”

“I think so,” he responds thoughtfully. “The Jazz club room is just down here, by the stairs. Tim and I used to borrow it to play in sometimes. In fact, Roger auditioned to join Smile in there.” You look up at him with a grin, enjoying his nostalgic expression and contemplating the little scrap of trivia – much of Queen’s ancestry, as it were, must have happened in this building, among other familiar places. The sound of the guitars grows considerably louder as you and Brian approach the stairwell, and once there, you can distinctly pick out at least two instruments being played.

“Oh, no wonder it’s loud,” Brian notes, “the door’s open.” You follow his gaze to see the door to the room cracked slightly, evidently having been accidentally left like that by its occupants. Curiosity getting the better of you, you look up at Brian with a little mischief in your eye.

“Shall we have a peek?” you ask, and he grins as though he’d been thinking the same thing.

“Sure.” Knowing how much the pair of you love music, it hadn’t been difficult for you both to give in to temptation, creeping up to the door so as not to disturb whoever is inside. As you peer through the gap in the door, Brian doing the same over the top of your head, you catch sight of a couple of guys you don’t recognise, strumming guitars that are plugged into amps. At the moment, they seem to be just jamming, throwing random chords and riffs out for fun, looking as though they’re enjoying themselves. However, the sound of a third guitar hits the air, the person producing the sound not visible from your vantage point, but as you listen to what they’re playing, a strange rush of familiarity comes over you; at first, you think you just recognise the solo from a popular song you know, like a Jimi Hendrix track or something, but the more you listen, the more shocked and somewhat angry you become – this is one of your own songs, and there’s only one person who knows how to play its solo. Craning your neck in order to see, you just about manage to catch a glimpse of Harry’s wavy mess of hair around the door, and when he finishes the solo, the other boys reply with enthusiastic words of praise for his performance.

“That’s one my band wrote,” he says, a gloatingly smug tone to his voice. “You should come and see us sometime – we’re pretty good.” You can’t help but stand there, frozen in place, as you listen to him continue to ham himself up as though he’s the next big thing, and although you know that it will do no good, you can’t stop the swell of rage building up inside you once again; what the hell does he think he’s doing, throwing away his exams for a chance to pump up his ego by bragging about his abilities to some strangers? His self-assured swagger offends you massively, feeling as though you’re looking at someone you can’t stand, not your own brother. As you continue to seethe, you feel a light pressure on both of your shoulders, and realise that Brian’s placed his hands there, probably in order to get your attention. Using the distraction to come to your senses a little, you notice that you’re breathing somewhat loudly in anger, and you feel a little guilty, not wanting Brian to feel uncomfortable.

“Let’s go, love,” he whispers, guiding you away from the door gently, and shooting one last glare in Harry’s direction, despite the fact that he can’t see it, you allow Brian to usher you towards the stairs. You’d been excited to share this hour with Brian before your next exam, but once again, Harry has flattened your mood, and you find yourself wondering when he will ever learn, and additionally, why you even bother caring about him anymore. Neither of you speak until you arrive at the sandwich bar, buying your lunch and sitting down near the back of the room. After taking a bite of your sandwich, it dawns on you just how hungry you are, as in your earlier exasperation, you hadn’t quite noticed.

“I’m sorry about Harry.” You look up in surprise at Brian’s quiet statement, and his expression is full of concern, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“It’s alright,” you reply, wanting to erase the unease from his face. “Don’t bother talking about him, he’s not worth it.” Despite your words, you can feel his eyes still on you as you continue to eat.

“You’re upset, though,” he points out, and your chewing grinds to a halt as you look at him again, trying to suppress your feelings, which have now turned from anger to melancholy.

“Yeah,” you reply, finishing the mouthful of food and putting your sandwich down as his hand slides towards you, grasping yours gently. He pauses, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him what you’re thinking, and though you weren’t originally going to start offloading it all, you realise that he’s probably not going to let you go without hearing it. “I just-“ For some reason, the words don’t come out straight away, and your gaze falls into your lap as you try to make sense of your thoughts.

“He’s left you behind, hasn’t he?” You hadn’t expected Brian to say something like that, but despite the fact that he’s only known you and Harry for six months, he seems to understand the bond between the two of you, and how much it means to you, in more detail than you’d imagined.

“I guess so,” you concede, raising your eyes back up to him. “I know he never cared much for college, but he did it because it meant that we could stick together. It was awful when he went working in that factory after school; mum yelled at him all the time about not being a ‘real man’ and all that stuff, and ignoring his potential. She stopped nagging at him when he came with me to do biology, and he actually thanked me for it.” You smile ever so slightly at the memory. “He said we’d be a team, and we’ve always been pretty close, but these last few years in college…” Images of past times with Harry fill your mind, and your chest aches with a now bittersweet fondness. “…they were the best.” There a short silence between you after you finish speaking, and Brian looks contemplative as he holds your hand.

“He’s your best friend,” he remarks after a while, his eyes meeting yours with a look of significance, and you nod sadly.

“He is, always has been. This feels so horrible. It’s like he’s forgotten we were ever close.” At your behest, tears begin to prick behind your eyes, and you close them for a second, sniffing and forcing them away. While your eyes are still shut, you feel your hand being pulled, until it meets the warmth of Brian’s lips as he kisses it softly. Feeling your tears recede, you open your eyes again, meeting his as he contemplates you with deep pity.

“You don’t deserve this,” he says, barely above a whisper. “He has no idea what he’s thrown away, and I don’t just mean the exams.” Wanting comfort more than anything, you let him take your other hand, clasping both of them between his, and you suspect that if you hadn’t been in a room full of other students, he would have scooped you up into his arms. “I promise you one thing,” he continues, looking more serious than you’ve seen him before. “He’s going to regret treating you like this. He might not realise it for a while, but he will. If I were him…” He leans across the table slightly so as to be closer to you, and one of his hands comes up to cup your face delicately, a gesture full of affection. “…I’d be incredibly grateful to have you in my life.”

His words are so touching and loving, that you can’t help yourself – the tears reappear, and this time, one of them escapes, trickling slowly down your cheek and towards Brian’s thumb. He strokes it away, and despite the fact that you’re feeling dreadfully sad, there’s also a strong sense of adoration for Brian welling up within you; he’d said the words as a reference to Harry, but they’d also betrayed his own feelings towards you, that he must be that thankful to know you, and be a part of your life. It’s a little overwhelming, especially because you haven’t cried in front of Brian before, something you’ve only ever conceded to do in front of Harry, but this moment further impresses upon you that not only was there a bond between you and your brother, but there’s one between you and Brian too, and it’s not something you want to ignore or take for granted. In this situation, he’s not just your boyfriend, but the stronghold that you need, and that Harry is not providing. In your brother’s uncaring absence, Brian has stepped up to be the new shoulder for you to cry on, and while it feels a little odd to unveil your most vulnerable side to someone else, you enjoy the added closeness it brings between the two of you.

“You’ve been so good to me, Brian,” you tell him as you wipe your eyes, hoping that you don’t look too ungraceful. “Harry’s been there one minute, and gone the next, but you’ve always been here for me.” You take the opportunity to return his affection, taking one of his own hands in yours and kissing it back. “I’m really glad we have each other.” For a moment, Brian doesn’t respond, and you wonder what he could be thinking, but then he springs into action, surprising you by standing up slightly to lean all the way across the table, planting a huge kiss on your cheek before you can react. It causes you to giggle slightly, and he sits back down, looking embarrassed but earnest.

“Me too,” he says, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Please don’t be upset. You’ve got one more exam, and I know you’ll do great in it.”

“No, I’m alright,” you reply, wiping your face again and sighing, letting the emotion drain out of you as much as you can. “I’ll be okay. Speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve got a lot of time left.” Brian checks his watch and confirms it, so the pair of you go back to your food, sharing affectionate smiles and resolving not to talk about Harry anymore.

Thankfully, there’d still been enough time for you both to finish your lunches and head to the hall you’ll be taking your next exam in, and as you sit together outside the doors, in very much the same type of situation as before, Brian asks you a few more questions from your textbook, at your request. However, it’s not long before the hall doors open, signalling you all to enter for the exam, and Brian holds you tightly before you go, not as shy about it, considering that everybody else is walking past you to enter the room.

“You’ll be great,” he soothes, kissing you once more. “I’ll be right here when you get out.” Looking up at him gratefully, you don’t want to let him go, but nod with a smile, knowing that you have a job to do.

“See you soon.” He smiles once more, looking as regretful as you feel about your parting, and you convince yourself to turn your back on him, following the other students into the hall. The scenario unfolds exactly the same as the previous one had - bags at the back, stationery in hand, locate your seat. You contemplate the exam paper in front of you, your feelings about Brian and everything he had said just before still in your mind, and you use it as a source of motivation, in an attempt to pull yourself out of your slump. Focusing on the professor’s speech, you listen diligently as he announces the start of the exam, flipping the paper over and collecting yourself.

For a second, your eyes flit over to your right hand side, where once again, you’re greeted with the sight of an empty desk, and while a large part of you wants to give in to sadness again, the other part seems stronger now, resolving to ignore Harry’s foolishness and focus on yourself; Harry might not be sitting beside you right now, but you know who’s going to be waiting for you outside those doors when this is over, and the knowledge of that alone is enough to power you through.


	26. Where Will I Be This Time Tomorrow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your exams are finally over, and it's time to start planning your future, but as you look towards the biology-related career you've been working for all this time, an unfortunate realisation comes over you - something you've suspected for a while, now glaringly obvious. It makes everything all the more difficult, on top of your fears for the future and your tattered relationship with Harry - your mother would never understand what it is you want to tell her.

The warmth of the June sun on your skin has been incredibly welcome over the last few days since the month had begun; with Summer finally upon London, breaking through the frigid air of Winter and the hesitant progression of Spring, the heat has properly arrived, the city seeming more cheery and alive. You’re especially glad of the weather’s sunny disposition, as it’s been a small comfort to you in your strange limbo; the biology exams now over, you’re hanging in the unfamiliar gap between education and adult life proper, waiting to find out your results and teetering on the precipice of securing the job that will carry you throughout your adulthood. It’s an unsettling feeling, as the loss of your regular college routine has left you feeling odd, coupled with the uncertainty you have towards your potential field of work – while you’ve made sure to work as hard as you can stand towards your qualifications, you’re unsure of how well suited to a job in the realms of biology you really are, and the fact that you’ll soon have to bite the bullet and make a choice is somewhat daunting to you.

Not only this, but things still haven’t improved with your brother; Harry has continued to make himself all but invisible to you and your mother, alternating between hibernating in his room and leaving the house for hours on end, heading to places unknown. Everything that has happened between the two of you still burns uncomfortably in your chest, injecting an air of sadness into your days during quiet moments, and you’re unsure of what is to come – will things ever go back to the way they were? An unfortunate, niggling feeling in your gut tells you that they might not, but you’ve still been holding onto a desperate hope that you’re wrong.

The house lays in it’s usual near-silence as you chew on your toast, fuelling yourself for the morning. After a moment, your mother enters the room and takes her seat opposite you, smiling brightly as she places her own breakfast onto the table.

“Excited?” You nod with a brief smile, and she beams as she cuts into her food. “I can’t wait to hear all about it. You’re going to have such a head-start, having studied all the way up to masters level, and at Imperial College, no less. I bet you’ll meet some great people there!” You do your best to entertain her enthusiasm, nodding again in agreement as you eat; today, you’ll be attending a careers fair at college, which promises to introduce newly graduated students to various career options available to them, with some industry guests to give a speech about their field of work, and the possibilities within them for young people like you. It’s something you’d imagined having to attend, and while it’s not compulsory, it’ll certainly give you a much better picture of your career options than trying to muddle through it alone. You’re not exactly riveted by the idea of spending your day in this manner, but you’ve conceded that it’s something you’d better do, now that you’re not a student anymore.

“I do wish Harry would go with you,” she adds more quietly, looking regretful and putting a bite of food quickly into her mouth, as if to stop herself from mentioning him again. The sound of his name does bring a gloomy air over the table, and you do your best to shake it off and sound normal as you reply.

“He does still have a degree,” you point out rationally. “He could probably get a good job if he tried.” Your mother doesn’t reply for a moment, and the knowledge that Harry’s ‘trying’ days are long gone hangs tangibly between the two of you, not needing to be said. You both continue to eat in silence for a minute, until she speaks up again.

“Well, it’s just as well that you’re doing brilliantly, then, isn’t it?” She forces a smile, visibly attempting to banish the thought of Harry as quickly as she’d summoned it. “You’ll be wonderful in medicine, or something equally good. I bet there’s a lot of money to be had in a job like that.” She peers encouragingly at you from behind her glass of juice, and once again, you find yourself nodding along, feeling a little out of your depth; it’s become clear now that your mother has pinned all of her hopes onto your success, now that Harry has well and truly thrown in the towel, which brings an added layer of stress to the situation. As unsure as you are about what you want to do, you also really don’t want to let her down, given the circumstances. It’s an uncomfortable situation, but just like you’ve done over the past few weeks, since things have become so complicated and uncertain, you do your best to put everything out of your mind and simply focus on what you need to do, and continue to hope that things will settle down soon.

After convincing your mother that you’ll get as much out of today as possible and bidding her goodbye, you make your way to college, realising that this will probably be one of the very last times that you set foot in the building that you’ve grown so accustomed to over the last few years. Entering the foyer, you follow the signs posted on the announcements board that direct you towards the hall where the fair is taking place. As you walk through the familiar corridors, the younger students dashing ahead of you as they make their way to their lectures, you feel suddenly much older, as though you’ve aged a decade in the space of a moment, knowing that you’ll never be among these students again. Despite the fact that you haven’t technically graduated yet, the feeling causes a strong nostalgia to grow in your mind, almost longing for the first times you’d met your professors, the hours you’d spent researching in the library, the laughter you’d enjoyed while hanging out in the sandwich bar, and even the times you’d snuck out in a mischievous fit of tomfoolery… all with Harry by your side. You swallow the bitterness as it rises, doing your best to ignore his glaringly obvious absence, and having arrived at the hall, push the door open and head into the room.

The noise level fills your ears instantly, the chattering of many soon-to-be graduates, professors and visitors alike humming in the air, and feeling a little unsure of what to do, you make your way over to the nearest table. Glancing around the hall as you do so, you see that each table advertises a different area of work across all of the sciences, manned by either a professor from the college or someone from the industry itself, giving out information about each sector. There seems to be a lot of free literature available too, as several people pass you with large handfuls of pamphlets and informative flyers wedged into their hands. Feeling a little overwhelmed, you steel yourself and approach the table in front of you, preparing yourself for a lot of talking.

About an hour passes while you make your way slowly around the room, talking to all kinds of people about the careers they’re representing, answering the myriad questions directed your way, and accepting the booklets offered to you. With each new piece of information, your brain begins to whirr all the more dizzily, causing you to feel as though you’re about to explode with the wealth of ideas being presented to you. Shuffling the papers in your hands, you pull your focus back to what the professor currently in front of you is saying.

“I do hope that you’ll consider a career in teaching,” he says honestly. “Biology teachers are incredibly valuable to any school, and you’re well qualified for it – most secondary schools are happy to accept a teacher at undergraduate degree level, so I dare say, with a masters, that you’d be able to teach at a university with no problem. You could even enquire to join the lecturers here at Imperial!” You nod at his words, surprised that you’d be considered good enough to teach, and trying to imagine yourself as a lecturer, standing shoulder to shoulder with the staff who have taught you for a large chunk of your youth.

“Well, I’ll see what my results are,” you reply with what you hope looks to be an optimistic smile, “and hopefully, I’ll be able to apply.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says encouragingly, writing down a telephone number for the person you’d need to call if you were to attempt to apply for a teaching role here. Finishing up your conversation, you stride away from the table, feeling a little dazed. Before you can decide what to do next, a professor loudly calls for attention from a table in the middle of the room, the noise level dipping considerably as he shouts.

“Just to remind you all,” he says at volume, “Dr Williams here will be giving a special speech about his background in pharmacology, and how best to work towards a career in it, in about fifteen minutes!” He gestures to the man standing next to him, a well-presented middle-aged man with a gentle smile, who nods at the attention being garnered. The professor informs the room of the speech’s location, before thanking everyone for listening. As the room falls back into loud chatting and bustling activity, you head over to Dr Williams’ table, as it’s one of the few that you haven’t visited yet. Dr Williams himself steps away, probably to prepare for the speech, but the lady next to him continues to speak to the students in his stead. You listen in as she explains the concept and possibilities of a career in pharmacology, picking up one of the informational booklets and skimming its first page briefly; your mother had mentioned the idea of you having something to do with medicine multiple times, and you have to admit that it’s probably quite a good path to go down. To your surprise, your concentration is suddenly broken by someone tapping you on the arm – an old classmate greeting you.

“Oh, hi,” you emit, taken off guard.

“Did you speak to Dr Williams?” she asks, looking enthusiastic, and you shake your head. “Oh, he’s really helpful. I think it’d be really good to go down a similar route to him. Are you going to his speech?” A little unsure of yourself, but wanting to make the most of the opportunity, you nod as you reply.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

“Great!” the girl exclaims, tapping your arm again in encouragement. “We can sit together.” Agreeing, you follow her lead as she heads towards the door, the both of you making your way to the room where Dr Williams will speak. Naturally, talk about the fair breaks out between you, comparing the people you spoke to and the career ideas that each of you prefer the most. Once you arrive at the lecture room, you both take seats together near the front, continuing to chat. The inevitable strange feeling that the both of you have about leaving Imperial College comes up in conversation, and you enjoy a few minutes of laughing as you recall familiar events that you remember from the many years you’ve both been here. Dr Williams then enters the room, followed by the professor who’d announced his speech, and the room begins to quieten down as he readies himself. However, just before the speech begins, your old classmate turns to you, something evidently having just occurred to her.

“By the way – where’s your brother?” You fight dutifully against the black cloud that threatens to descend upon you at the mention of Harry.

“Oh, he, uh –“ You’re not sure how many of your fellow biology students had noticed that Harry had been absent from the exams at the time, but noting your dwindling supply of energy to keep recounting the situation, you don’t want to get into it, deflecting her with a white lie instead of the truth. “-he’s not very well at the moment.”

“Oh,” she muses in response, seeming satiated, “that’s a shame. At least you can share your booklets with him when you get home.” Nodding in fake agreement, you’re grateful when Dr Williams takes his place at the front of the room and addresses the gathering of students, beginning his speech, and pushing all thoughts of Harry as far out of your mind as you can manage, you listen to what he has to say.

The start of Dr William’s speech is relatively interesting, as he gives you all an outline of his own education and how he came to have the job he currently has, but as he embellishes on the possibilities that lie ahead for you all in the field of pharmacology, you find yourself beginning to tune out. The more he speaks, the less you want to be there, and now that you have a quiet moment to think about it, you know exactly why; for all the problems Harry has caused recently, there’s one thing that you can empathise with him on – neither of you want to make a career in biology. Casting your mind back to your teenage years, you remember deciding to take up biology at university simply because your mother had wanted you to succeed in something that would land you a promising future, and you’d been better at the sciences than most other subjects. Your heart, though willing to go along with your mother’s wishes, had never truly been in it, and while you’d managed to fool yourself into believing otherwise for some time, it’s currently hitting you like a ton of bricks that you just don’t want this for yourself – while you’re not entirely sure what it is that you truly want to do, you’re certain that this is not it. The more you contemplate it, the more strongly your mother’s intense disappointment and anguish rings out above everything, as you know how deeply hurt she would be if you decided to discount the field of biology after all your years of education, and even if you got yourself a good job in another field, you can tell that she’d most likely still be unhappy about it.

Feeling flustered, your head heavy with too much thought, you’re almost ecstatic when Dr Williams closes his speech, the audience clapping and standing up to leave, and you jump up quickly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’m going up to talk to him again,” your classmate informs with a grin that suggests that she really enjoyed Dr Williams’ speech. “Are you coming?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you stutter, wanting nothing more than to get away from all talk of biology, “I’m going to talk to someone else back at the fair.”

“Okay,” she replies, her smile maintaining its cheery nature, “I’ll see you later.” You force a similar expression as you nod, and the moment she steps away to approach the small crowd of people currently surrounding Dr Williams, you make a break for it, striding swiftly out of the room and down the corridor. As you hurry, you realise that you’re still clutching onto the large wadge of booklets and pamphlets you’ve amassed over the course of your time at the fair, and in your overwhelmed state, you momentarily consider stuffing them into the nearest bin you can find. However, the last shreds of sensibility left inside you halt that course of action in it’s tracks, and instead, you open your bag, shoving the booklets inside clumsily. Shaking your head at the whirlwind of thoughts currently going on inside it, you begin to make your way back towards the fair, but after a moment, concede that it won’t do you any further good, that your mind will not be in the right place to absorb any more information on something you don’t genuinely care about. Sighing heavily, you alter your course, heading guiltily for the exit instead.

__

The solace of your bedroom is much more relaxing than college had been, though the pile of booklets you’d collected sits ominously on your desk, serving as a constant reminder of your feelings, and the fact that time is ticking away – you’ll have to make a choice, sooner or later. You’d spent the rest of the day there, attempting to unwind as best you could while your mother was still out at work. Whether Harry had been in the house or not is unknown to you, not that it would have made any difference if he had. As you listen to music through your headphones, you feel a shift in the atmosphere, and taking the headphones off momentarily, you hear what must be your mother arriving home. The realisation that you’re going to have to talk to her about your future looms over you heavily, and you brace yourself for it. As you’d expected, she makes her way straight upstairs after a moment, knocking on your door and popping her head around it.

“How did it go?” Her excitement is obvious, and as she steps into the room properly to chat, you find yourself having a tug of war with your own conscience; if you really don’t want to take on a career in biology, then it’s your business, and you do have a choice, in the end. However, at the same time, considering how awful Harry has been recently, you can’t bear to tell your mother that you also plan to ignore everything you’ve been training for in favour of something that probably won’t measure up, in her eyes. It’s a horrible moment, during which you sit, somewhat frozen in place on your bed, agonising over what to do. Hearing the words that seem to autonomously come out of your mouth, you realise that the kinder side of your conscience has won – for now.

“It was interesting,” you reply, feigning enthusiasm, “there were a lot more ideas than I thought for. They had some guest speakers in, too.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she gushes in response. “Did you talk to any of them?”

“Yes, I went to a lecture by a man called Dr Williams, who works in pharmacology. He says it’s one of the most important jobs in the country.”

“I can certainly imagine so!” Her enjoyment at the idea of you following in Dr Williams’ footsteps is visible on her face, and you find yourself averting your eyes momentarily until it passes. “Any other possibilities?”

“Well,” you muse, thinking back to the conversations you’d had with various people at the fair, “one of my old professors said that I’ll be qualified enough to become a biology teacher, too. I could teach at secondary schools with my degree, or universities if I get a good result on my masters.” Your mother’s eyes widen in glee as you say this.

“That’s fantastic,” she enthuses, “I’m so pleased for you! I just knew you’d do well!” Her joy at the prospect of the future you don’t want beginning to overwhelm you again, you’re grateful when she notices the booklets on your desk at her side. “Are these from the fair?”

“Yeah, I picked up pretty much everything.” A haggard breath escapes you as she gets distracted, leafing through the papers with interest, and feeling tired from having to repeatedly calm yourself down so many times over the course of the day, you find yourself counting the seconds until she leaves. Luckily, she seems very satisfied with your report about today’s activities, placing the stack of papers back onto your desk with a smile.

“Well, that’ll give you a lot to think about, won’t it?” You have to genuinely force a snort of dark laughter back down your throat as you contemplate just how much thinking you’ve already done today, to her ignorance. “Right,” she continues, and you begin to feel relieved as you realise that she’s changing the subject. “What do you fancy for tea? I can make a shepherd’s pie, if you like?”

“That sounds good, mum,” you reply, glad to be talking about something mundane, and she nods in agreement, stating that the food will be ready in about an hour and a half. As she exits your room, you flop backwards onto the bed, completely mentally exhausted. It’s moments like this that you really wish Harry was here – he would understand your problem completely, feeling exactly the same way himself, and would no doubt be able to give you at least a little strength with which to keep going. With no one but your four bedroom walls to confide in, you grudgingly continue to hold it all inside, slipping your headphones back over your ears and turning to the music blaring within for comfort.

__

Dinner passed uneventfully, Harry declining to make an appearance, as usual by now, and you and your mother had whiled away the evening quietly. You’d still felt terrible about hiding your true feelings about your future from her, almost going to initiate a conversation about it at one point, but losing the courage to do so. If Harry had been there to back you up, you might have been able to do it.

When your mother announces that she’s retiring to bed, you decide to call the only other person you know will understand your struggles properly; once you’re well and truly alone, you dial the number for Sinclair Road, hoping that Roger and Brian are at home. Casting an eye at the clock on the wall, you hope that it’s not too late to be calling. Luckily, the phone is answered after the first few rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi Roger,” you greet, “it’s me.”

“Oh, alright love?” he responds, clearly not needing clarification over who ‘me’ is. You know each other well enough now that you’d recognise each other’s voices anywhere.

“Yeah, how are you? Any Queen news?”

“No, and I’m bloody sick of waiting,” he grumbles momentarily, before regaining his carefree tone. “I’m guessing you’re calling for Brian?”

“If he’s around,” you reply, and you can practically see Roger’s grin as he chuckles down the phone.

“I’ll just go and get him.” You’re left alone for a minute, while Roger procures Brian from wherever he currently is, and having enjoyed hearing Roger’s friendly, familiar voice, you’re glad that you can talk to him and Brian tonight, feeling more confident that it will cheer you up a bit. After hearing a shuffle at the other end of the phone, you finally feel yourself smiling slightly as you’re greeted by Brian’s warm, comforting voice.

“Hello, my love,” he murmurs, a smile audible in his words, “you alright?”

“Honestly, I’ve been better,” you tell him, gearing up to relay the day’s events to him in the knowledge that you’ll probably feel somewhat less stressed once you’ve finished.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned, and you mentally note how grateful you are that he’s here to listen as you recount the job fair to him, explaining your realisation that you don’t want to follow the path of biology into a career, and how helpless and conflicted you feel about telling your mother. Glancing up at the staircase every now and then, you make sure to keep your voice as hushed as possible to ensure that your mother doesn’t overhear anything you’re saying. For your entire speech, Brian simply listens, making little hums of acknowledgement every now and then, and you feel as though you’re probably bombarding him a bit. However, once your words eventually run out, he sighs lightly and responds in the way you’d imagined he might.

“Well, I know it probably sounds cliché, but I can understand that perfectly,” he says. “I do genuinely love physics, but with the things we’ve been doing with Queen, I’m just not entirely sure of what I want to do. I would love to work in astrophysics, don’t get me wrong, but the whole Queen thing is too exciting to give up on, in my mind.” Appreciating his words, you realise that Brian really does empathise with you just as much as Harry would.

“It’s just so hard because Harry’s completely lost the plot,” you say in a near-whisper, not wanting your mother to hear, or Harry himself, if he’s even in the house. “I’m the golden child in this house now – what’s she going to say if I tell her I’m not doing it? She’ll go mad, have a bloody heart attack, or something. She’s pinning everything on me.”

“I can imagine,” Brian replies, a knowing tone growing in his voice, “my parents are the same. I’m the only one in the family who’s educated to this level. They really do expect big things from me.” Hearing his response causes you to realise just how similar your situations have become; Brian is an only child – of course he understands how you’re feeling. The entirety of both his parents’ expectations has been weighing on his shoulders since day one, and with no one to share the struggle with, he’s had to bear it all by himself, just as you’re doing now. A rush of compassion and pity welling up in your chest for him, you feel yourself softening, no longer wanting to concentrate on the situation itself, but on the relationship between you and Brian.

“Let’s do this together, Brian,” you say, feeling timid but certain that you want to be his confidant just as equally as he is yours. “I’m sure we can get through it, if we stick together. We can help each other through, can’t we?.” A quiet exhalation of laughter tickles your ear in reply, and you’re glad that he seems to appreciate what you’ve said.

“Of course we can,” he says, sounding more content. “You know I’m always here for you.”

“And I’m here for you too, Brian,” you add quickly, wanting him to be certain that he can rely on you. “Don’t forget that.” He laughs again, seeming a little sheepish and embarrassed.

“I won’t.”

The two of you continue to chat, the conversation gradually moving away from heavy topics and into the realms of normality, for which you’re immensely grateful. Talking to Brian has indeed helped you to relax quite a bit, and you’re so glad he was there to make you feel better.

“Where are you right now?” Brian suddenly asks, catching you off guard a little. “In the living room?”

“Yeah, I’m kneeling on the floor, actually,” you reply with a small laugh. For some strange reason, probably influenced by your attempts to not be overheard, you’d knelt on the floor next to the table the phone is sitting on, as if hiding between the furniture, rather than seating yourself on the nearby chair.

“Ah. Doesn’t sound very comfy.” You giggle at his remark.

“It’s not so bad.”

“Well,” he continues, sounding bashful about what he’s about to say, “don’t go sitting on the floor when you’re here. You can lay on the sofa with me.” The mental image fills your mind as you picture yourself at Sinclair Road, sharing the sofa with Brian, as you have done many times already. Your mind begins to grow fuzzy with adoration as you imagine him entangling his long fingers into your hair, running them through it as he tends to do, especially when you’re resting your head against his chest. The thought causes a blush to rise in your cheeks.

“I wish I was on that sofa now,” you reply, longing to be in his arms, and he sighs as though he’s feeling the same way.

“Me too. Do you think you can come over soon?”

“Well, I’m not a student anymore,” you point out, “so I suppose I can do whatever I like!” The pair of you giggle, fully engrossed in the romantic idea of the embrace Brian had suggested. “I’ve been in serious need of cheering up, though,” you continue, wanting to flirt a little to hear his reaction. “I might need a lot of kisses, too.” The low laugh Brian gives in response suggests that he’d like nothing more.

“I’ll kiss you all night, my love,” he replies, half in laughter and half seriously, “if that’s what you want.”


	27. A Man Who Cried For A Love Gone Stale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for you to finally face the truth about your feelings towards your potential career, leading you to one final revelation. However, when you go to tell Harry the good news, hoping for a peaceful reunion with him, something else happens instead - something that changes your world forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, Queenies! Just to let you know, this is an intense chapter in a serious way. Make sure you're ready for it.

The early afternoon sun filters in through your window, casting a warm glaze across the room; you’re sitting at your desk, trying your best to seriously peruse the informational booklets you’d collected at the careers fair last week, in order to make the situation regarding your future more clear, but despite your efforts, you still feel the same as the night you’d called Brian to talk about it – you just can’t see yourself taking up any of these careers. In a way, you’re attempting to entice yourself into making a sensible decision, but it’s just not working. No matter how many times you read about how valuable a contribution to society you’d be giving if you worked in medicine, or consider the fact that you’d help to shape the future of science as a teacher, you just can’t force yourself to want it. Sighing heavily, you lean back in your chair, head lolling loosely in defeat, and contemplate the ceiling, wondering what to do with yourself. After a moment, you notice a few sounds coming from downstairs, something you can’t quite identify, followed by footsteps coming up the stairs rather quickly. Pulling yourself back into your normal posture, you listen with curiosity as a knock comes on your bedroom door, followed by your mother’s voice.

“Special delivery!”

“Come in,” you reply, nonplussed about her behaviour, and she enters the room with a wide grin on her face, extending an envelope out towards you.

“I think this might be the letter you’ve been waiting for,” she says, her voice quivering with a mixture of nerves and excitement, and you instantly realise what she’s referring to – this must be the letter from Imperial College containing your exam results, and therefore, the final grade for your masters qualification. A ball of nerves crackling in your stomach, you take the envelope from her, peeling it open with a feeling of trepidation; although you aren’t exactly thrilled with the idea of biology anymore, you still feel that old, familiar anxiety over receiving your results, just like any other test you’ve taken, and it certainly doesn’t help that your mother is waiting impatiently at your side to hear them for herself. Sliding the letter out of the envelope, you brace yourself as you unfold it, allowing the words upon the pages to fill your mind.

“Oh,” you utter in relief, feeling the tension drain from your body, “I passed with merit.” Considering how unstable and uncomfortable things had been in the run up to your exams, and even more so on the days that you’d taken them, you’re quite pleased that you managed to reach merit level, as you’d been worried that your mind had been too distracted to focus properly. You feel yourself relax, satisfied with the result, although your eyes instinctively move upwards to meet your mother’s, wondering anxiously if a merit is enough in her mind – will she be disappointed that you didn’t get a distinction?

“Ah, brilliant!” she exclaims, your worries melting away with her enthusiasm. “Well done, love!” She closes the gap between you quickly, leaning down awkwardly to hug you in your seated position, and caught off guard, you laugh momentarily before returning the embrace. “I knew you’d be successful,” she says, beaming with pride as she withdraws. “I’ve always hoped that you’d be educated to a high level, and here we are!” Though you’re happy that she’s satisfied with your result, you’re starting to anticipate what she might say next, and it’s making you feel rather unsettled. As if to prove you right, she continues with her speech.

“There’s nothing stopping you from getting a high-paying job now – you’re going to be fantastic! I’ll be able to show all my friends, then – that’s my daughter!” Despite the fact that you’re automatically trying to paste an agreeable smile onto your face, you find yourself struggling to fully don the false mask; this is getting out of hand, and as much as you want to tell her right now that you don’t want a career in biology, you also can’t stand to knock the wind out of her sails after seeing her so excited and elated – what on earth are you supposed to do? Luckily for you, the situation is de-escalated for now, your mother making her way back towards the door.

“I bet you can’t wait to tell everyone about this!” she says, still beaming from ear to ear. “I think I’m going to make a little cake in celebration! I’m very proud of you, love.” With one last giddy grin, she exits, closing the door behind her and pattering off down the stairs. The second she leaves, your entire body seems to crumble, and you slump forwards limply in despair, holding your head in your hands as you lean against the desk.

As you sit there, practically able to feel the thoughts whizzing around your brain at top speed, you realise one thing that is certain – you’ve got to make a decision right now. If you really can’t stand the idea of working in biology, something that you have no passion for and no drive to achieve, then you’re going to have to come up with a solid alternative. If you’re going to abandon everything you’ve been training for out of a wish to do something that you actually enjoy, then you’ll have to find what that career path is, and plan out a clear course towards making it a reality. Your mother will go absolutely nuts as it is, when you tell her that you’re turning your back on biology, but her reaction will be even worse if you also have no alternate plan to follow instead. Without a back-up plan, you’ll be no better in her eyes than Harry – and what exactly is he doing with his life now, other than nothing?

The thought of him causes a picture to build up inside your mind, and though it’s full of blank spaces, due to the fact that you almost never see him anymore, one thing crops up more strongly than anything – the band. If anything, Harry’s probably been spending his days rehearsing or writing with the band, or at least playing with other musicians, somewhere. The memory of you and Brian stumbling upon him showing off to those college boys during the exams floats to the surface of your mind, and you feel certain that music is what Harry must have been focusing on this whole time. The more you think about the band, and the great memories you’ve made over the year you’ve been together, you miss it more and more; Tom, Dave and Charlie are almost like extra brothers to you, never mind how close you and Harry have been all your lives. You’ve missed seeing their optimistic faces, watching them combine their instrumental skills to create the songs you love to sing so much, and laughing until your stomach hurts in the back of Charlie’s tattered old van. The more the feeling fills you, pervading every corner of your mind and body, you realise that this is it – the one thing you love to do more than anything in the world is sing.

When you and Harry had first started writing songs together as teenagers, it had seemed like the pair of you had opened a doorway to a whole new world, where you could express your creativity and move other people with it. You’d gone to all of your friends, calling out for others who would share your vision, and Charlie, Dave and Tom had answered, bringing the thing you both yearned for so fervently closer to reality. The five of you have had some wonderful times, writing songs you genuinely think are worthy of hearing, and playing on some of the same stages that the legends you look up to have trodden upon. It only makes sense that this, though uncertain and incredibly rocky, is the path you want to walk in life, and looking down at the letter on your desk, you’re blessed with a sudden sense of freedom – this marks the end of your obligations to anything, leaving you free to pursue a creative career. Music has always been your biggest passion, and through your endeavours with your band and watching Queen, you’ve tasted just a mouthful of what musical success could be like. Sitting there at your desk, now fully upright and more serious than you’ve ever been in your life, you nod to yourself as you accept the revelation that is causing your chest to burn with conviction – just a mouthful isn’t enough. You want the whole glass, a pitcher of it – the entire ocean, if you can get your hands on it.

__

A fire in your belly from your renewed musical ambitions, you’d wanted to talk to Harry straight away, to tell him that it’s time to set the band’s activity into overdrive, on the path to success. However, after peering around his bedroom door, you’d found that he hadn’t been home, so, unable to keep your mind away from music, you’d sat upon his bed, where you currently lie, waiting for him to return – he must come back at some point. The letter displaying your merit sits clutched in your hand, and your impatience slowly begins to drive you crazy as you wait for Harry, coupled with the fear you feel at talking to him again, in case he simply insults you like he did at Sinclair Road. Exhaling your nerves, you wait for what feels like hours and hours, until finally, your ear catches the familiar sound of the front door opening and closing, and Harry’s loud footsteps as he races up the stairs, probably taking them two at a time, in order to avoid seeing your mother. Sitting up, you steel yourself for whatever may happen next as he walks into the room, swinging his guitar case upright and propping it against the wall. He notices you almost immediately, whipping around to behold you as you sit on his bed, having not expected to see you at all.

“Look,” you instruct, holding the letter up to him, your result facing in his direction. To your surprise, he doesn’t shoot some smart comment your way, simply leaning in to read it, and after a moment, his eyebrows raise in typical Harry style as he claps his hands several times.

“Round of applause,” he says somewhat sarcastically, and you lower your arm.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” you ask, hoping that he hasn’t forgotten how you’d promised him that you’d get back to band activities in full force once college was over. He regards you with amusement while taking off his jacket, throwing it into the corner.

“You’re a swot?” A small laugh bubbles up from your chest at the comment, and he shares it, exhaling gruffly. For the tiniest moment, it almost feels as though you and Harry are back on the same page, laughing at his usual teasing ways.

“It means I’m done with everything,” you clarify, regaining your serious manner. “No more college. No more bullshit.” As if to demonstrate your point, you throw the letter carelessly with a flick of your wrist, and it spins through the air, landing on the carpet to Harry’s left. Expecting a response, you watch him as he glances at the discarded paper, but he doesn’t reply, regarding you with an expression that seems to contain curiosity. “Do you really think I’m gonna work in medicine, or whatever it is mum wants?” you ask, raising your eyebrows in disdain as you look at him. “I told you – just until college is over.” Harry’s eyes meet yours, and you wish you could understand whatever it is that he’s thinking.

“So, what you’re saying is,” he starts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “that you want to play music again?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you reply, nodding fervently. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? I know I disappeared while I did the exams – I just wanted mum off my back – but that’s done with, now. I’m not gonna pander to her anymore, Harry. I don’t think it’s fair for her to force me into anything – and not you, either.” The words leave your mouth more loudly than you’d intended, due to the rush of conviction flowing through your veins, fully accepting of your feelings now. Harry continues to gaze at you, almost as if he doesn’t know what to make of the situation, before thrusting his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’ll be honest, sis, you surprise me,” he says, seeming genuinely taken aback. “I thought we were done.”

“What? No-“ Stumbling over your words, you struggle to order the things you want to say properly; it seems as though Harry had never taken you at your word that you’d return to the band after the exams were over, never had any faith that you’d really go back to him after everything that’s happened, and it makes you feel uncomfortably strange.

“Of course not,” you continue, after getting your thoughts in line. “You’re really dense sometimes, you know that? I told you I’d be back, and here I am. When have I ever lied to you, Harry?” His eyes fall away from yours slightly as he thinks about what you’ve said, looking sightly regretful. “I was always gonna come back. I was just getting all of that crap out of the way. It would have been easier if you’d done it with me, too – where the hell have you been?” You ask the question as a joke rather than an accusation, and he snorts in laughter at it, refusing to answer. “I’m not playing games, Harry,” you say seriously, looking him in the eyes. “We need to make this band a success, and we can start right now.” Harry glances down at the floor, lightly kicking a t-shirt laying by his foot, and sighs heavily. When he looks up at you again, his expression is a striking mixture of hope and doubt, and after a moment, it seems as though the doubt wins him over.

“It’s not gonna work, sis.”

“Why not?” Taken aback by his statement, you feel your stomach start to whirl with fear once more, desperately clinging onto your hopes that you could resolve this situation. Harry seems to struggle with himself, gazing at you with some sort of unspoken turmoil in his eyes.

“Because of-“ He stops his sentence short, looking back down at the floor again, but after taking a moment to compose himself, he fixes you with a different gaze, a look returning to his face that you can’t stand – the same smarmy, disdainful glare that he’d given you, Brian and Roger when he’d acted so rudely at Sinclair Road.

“Because you’re fickle as fuck, sis,” he spits, looking at you as though you’re someone he finds pathetic. “You just go swanning off whenever something takes your fancy. You don’t have a dedicated bone in your body. We can’t be a band like that.” The whirling in your stomach opens up to become a vortex, your anxiety and panic growing by the second – this can’t be happening again.

“No, no, Harry,” you stammer as your limbs kick into action, scrambling off his bed to stand close to him. “You can’t do this anymore. You can’t just act like a dick when something’s bothering you. We’re best friends – what the hell’s wrong with you?” Harry stiffens, evidently not happy about you getting up inside his personal space, but you hold your ground, trying to enforce the idea that you’re not going to let him get away with insulting his way out of the situation. “I don’t get it. There’s nothing in the world that you can’t tell me, Harry – just tell me what’s wrong! I hate this! Why are you treating me like a stranger?” Your emotions beginning to intensify, you have to swallow a lump of sadness that threatens to rise in your throat. Harry’s glare breaks for just a second, an unreadable thought process evident in his face.

“You really want to do this?”

“Yes, of course I do!” you exclaim, wanting desperately for him to understand. “We’ve always done this together. Me and you, since we were kids – we always said that we’d make a band one day, and when we did, it was brilliant. We’ve played the bloody Marquee Club – we can keep going, do bigger things, and we’ve got Queen. They could help us, spread our name around, talk to Trident and see if they can get us in. You said you wanted to record there, didn’t you?” Harry’s expression is uncomfortable, and it seems as though he has a million things running through his mind. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” you stress, praying that he believes you. “I still want it just as much as you do, so why can’t you understand that? Was it the exams? Did you think I was gonna get a job and leave the band behind? I’m gonna tell mum that I’m-“

“No, it’s not that!” Harry practically barks the words at you, his expression fully taken over by a tangible anger, and you start slightly at the volume of his outburst. His next sentence is something you’d never expected to hear, causing you to almost double-take in astonishment. “It’s fucking Brian!”

“What?” The single word is all you can manage in response, completely flummoxed by what Harry has just said.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he replies disparagingly, rolling his eyes. “You know exactly what you’re like.”

“Harry,” you start hesitantly, your voice much more quiet than a moment ago, “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” The statement only causes Harry to become more agitated, throwing his arms up into the air in an over-exaggerated shrug.

“Oh, really?” he spits. “Well, let me spell it out for you. Ever since you got with that loser, you’ve been ignoring the band more and more.” You go to interrupt him, in order to both refute his statement and defend Brian, but he doesn’t let you get a word in. “It’s all ‘Queen’ this, and ‘Brian’ that, and if the band wants to do something, it’s all ‘oh! I’ve got something else to do!’, but when Queen have a gig, oh no – you’re there in a split second, stuck to Brian like a bloody disease. It’s pathetic, is what it is, and it just goes to show how shallow you are, sis. The second a guy pays you any attention, you run off to him and forget everything else.”

As Harry offloads his tirade of accusations, point blank into your face, you find yourself feeling so shocked by it all that your legs begin to tremble slightly; if this is how he truly feels, then he must have a seriously warped perception of you, as you’ve never put a boyfriend before the band in your life. You know for a fact that this harsh depiction of you can’t be accurate, and gathering the small scraps of fierceness you have left within you, you defend yourself.

“Harry, none of that’s true, and you know it! I’d never put a boyfriend before the band, and the only reasons I’ve ever missed rehearsals or things like that is because of the exams-“

“Oh, then what about that time you made us move practise because you were having a date with Brian?”

“That was one time, Harry,” you shoot back quickly, “and we didn’t even miss practise, we just rearranged it. It still happened.” There’s a temporary cease-fire as Harry simply stares at you with malice in his eyes, and you search your thoughts frantically for a way to diffuse this situation; since Harry’s accusations don’t entirely stand up by themselves, there’s got to be a hidden truth behind what he’s saying. There must be something else about your relationship with Brian that bothers him, and you suspect that he’s not going to tell you what it is without some sort of trust between you, something that will make him realise that he can admit his insecurities to you without judgement or backlash.

“Look,” you begin, “I don’t know what your problem is, but I promise you that I’ll never put the band on the back-burner again, not for Brian or anyone. I told you as much, didn’t I? I don’t want us to be like this anymore, Harry. You’re my best friend – I don’t want you to hate me anymore.” Despite the fact that you fight them as hard as you can, tears begin to well up in your eyes, burning hotly. “I just want everything to go back to the way it was before.”

“That’s what I want, too,” he replies, his voice wavering slightly, probably at the sight of your tears. “We were the best. We could do anything.”

“We still can,” you reply, and wanting to show him that you truly care, you step towards him, pulling him into a hug, whether he likes it or not. You have to admit that you did it partially for your own comfort, too. His body remains tense as he stands there, his hands resting on your arms for a moment, and to your disappointment, he prises you away from him.

“No, we can’t,” he refutes, pushing you backwards slightly. “Not with Brian around.”

“Why?” you ask in disbelief. “What’s the problem?” There’s another brief moment of quiet while Harry seems to gear himself up to reply, and for the first time in a long while, you get the feeling that what he’s about to say is the exact truth. Your heart pounds in your chest and ears audibly as you dread whatever it is that’s about to happen.

“I can’t handle this, sis,” he whines, looking oddly vulnerable, a side of him that he never fully shows, even to you. “I can’t handle you and him.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, unable to process what you think he’s suggesting. “Are you jealous?”

“Yes,” he sighs, “I’m bloody well jealous! Not like that-“ he adds, much to your relief, “-I just can’t stand you being all over him. You’re always talking about him, always going over to see him, and I feel really left out. I wanted it to be just me and you, like it’s always been.” Now that Harry is starting to get his true feelings out into the open, you feel yourself softening at his insecurities, saddened that he’d be made to feel like this, even if it’s out of his own warped view of the situation.

“You’re my best friend, sis,” he admits sadly, “and I need you here. Do you think mum really cares about me, after everything I’ve done? She hates me, and dad’s not fucking here, either – you’re all I’ve got.”

The pain of Harry’s words washes over you like a tidal wave; you had no idea he’d been feeling so alone, abandoned by some people and met with disappointment by others. You hadn’t realised just how much Harry relies on your companionship and support to enable him to feel good about himself, and suffers when your attention is on Brian. In addition, you note that you’ve never really had many serious boyfriends until now, so it’s no wonder that you’ve never witnessed this behaviour from Harry before, as he hadn’t seen the boys you’d been involved with previously as a threat to his relationship with you. Seeing how taken you are with Brian must be scaring him somewhat, fearing that you’ll be so caught up with your love life that you’ll leave him behind, neglected. The sight of Harry so full of anguish, baring his true feelings to you, makes you feel as though a hole has formed within you, leaving you empty, and at the same time, your chest feels heavier than ever, an aching compassion throbbing inside.

“I’m not a scientist,” Harry continues, looking incredibly forlorn. “I’m not a high-flying businessman. I’m not even that good a person. I’m just your brother, sis. That’s all I want to be.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” you mumble, almost whispering. “I never meant to make you feel so bad.” The tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall, but the sight you’re greeted with in response causes your entire body to freeze in place; Harry beats you to it, huge, fat droplets of tears coursing down his face, one after the other, his brow furrowing as he grudgingly lets them fall, and you can’t believe your eyes – Harry’s actually crying. When was the last time you saw him cry? You can’t remember, and the extremity of his upset causes your stomach to clench in distress – this is beyond any hurt you’ve ever known him to display.

“I love you, sis,” he says honestly, struggling to enunciate the words through his crying, “but you don’t love me the same anymore. You love him. I can’t – you’re always with him – you don’t – it’s-“ His thoughts clearly muddled by his sorrow, he cuts himself off, after stopping and starting a few times, cradling his head in his hands in defeat. You never thought you’d hear ‘I love you’ from him, ever in your life, and it almost knocks you backwards.

“Of course I love you, Harry,” you interject while he’s quiet, reciprocating his feelings. “Brian can’t replace you! Don’t be stupid!”

“Oh yeah,” he responds sarcastically, wiping the tears from his face hurriedly, as if he regrets letting them slip in the first place. “That’s all I am, isn’t it – your stupid sidekick.” He balls his fists into his bloodshot eyes, as if trying to push his vulnerability back inside, where he believes it should stay hidden.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head, “you’re not-“

“Well, I don’t care anymore,” he interrupts, straightening back up to his full height. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve made your choice, so you might as well just forget about it.”

“There is no choice, Harry,” you reply. “I want both you and Brian in my life.”

“You can’t have both!” he snaps, his anger flaring up again, and you feel a flicker of fear within your chest. “If you’re that obsessed with him, then there’s no room for me.”

“No,” you exclaim incredulously, “you don’t need to be so extreme about it. You’re my bro-“

“You can’t concentrate on anything with Brian around,” he insists, almost beginning to pace around the room in frustration, “so just forget about me and leave!”

“No!” You reach out for him again, trying to get him to realise that you refuse to believe in his misinformed view. “I don’t want to leave!”

“Well, I’m telling you to!” he roars, advancing on you all of a sudden, sending a tremor of intimidation down your spine as he grabs you under the elbows and twists your skin, steering you towards the door as he pushes. “If you won’t love me properly, then get out!” Struggling to throw your weight forward and prevent him from pushing you over, you panic as you realise that you can no longer get through to him; the twisted perception of everything in his mind has gone into overdrive, his face full of rage, inches away from your own, and no matter how genuinely you proclaim your love for your brother now, it won’t change a thing - he’s snapped for good.

“What about the band?” you ask desperately, your voice strained as you try to stand your ground against his physical bombardment.

“You’re not welcome anymore!” He lunges forwards, stepping on your foot heavily, and you yelp in pain, wrenching it from under him. He uses your lack of contact with the ground to force you backwards towards the open door, muscling you out with his superior strength, and with every inch of ground that you lose, you feel your connection with him dwindling away to nothing.

“Harry, don’t! Please!”

“Get out of here, you slut!” He punctuates the last word with a huge shove, and unable to withstand it, you fly backwards into the hallway, smacking your back flatly against the far wall. The impact is so strong that it feels as though your brain bounces off the sides of your skull for moment, and this, combined with the implications of the slur he just called you, leaves you shell-shocked and speechless, doing all you can to steady your balance and not fall over. In your jarred state, you just about manage to make out the sound of a third person approaching the scene, though your eyes are closed in an attempt to block out your dizziness.

“What the hell is going on?” Your mother’s voice rings piercingly in your head, and opening your eyes again, you see that she’s appeared next to you, glaring accusingly at Harry. You dare yourself to look at him one more time, praying that he might show some remorse for treating you so horribly, but as he meets your eyes, he simply regards you with hate, flaring his nostrils in anger.

“Don’t ever talk to me again, traitor!”

“That’s enough!” Your mother steps between the pair of you, pointing a finger at Harry as threateningly as she can manage, for a small woman. “Don’t you dare touch her again!” As she begins to admonish him loudly, more angry than you’ve ever known her to be, your inner defenses come crashing down, overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened, and you begin to sob, tears blurring your vision heavily as you weep. It’s all too much to take, and the fact that Harry will probably never speak to you again feels unbearable. As the emotions swell within you, your ears tune back in to the sound of your mother’s voice in front of you.

“I’ve absolutely had it with you, Harry! You’re a disgrace to this family! If your father were still here-“ Hating the cacophony of noise, plus Harry’s overbearing presence only feet away from you, you remove yourself from the wall and stumble downstairs. You’d initially done it simply to put more distance between yourself and the scene, but now that you’re moving, the adrenaline of fear and anguish building up inside you, you can’t seem to stop. Without thinking, you move to the front door, slipping on the pair of shoes you’d left there earlier, not noticing that they don’t match your outfit at all. Wrenching the door open, you steal out into the evening, luckily not as cold as it could have been, thanks to the warmth of Summer. Without looking back, you slam the door shut against Harry and your mother, their aggressive voices, Harry’s abandonment of you, and everything in between.

__

Run. Doesn’t matter where. Just run. Leave it all behind. Keep running. The streets are dark. Trees. Keep running. Where are you going? It’s all gone wrong. Keep running. Cars. The park. Run. Get away from him. Adrenaline. Need help. Run.

__

By the time your legs finally give in to fatigue, bringing you to a swaggering, clumsy halt, your breathing is ragged and your head is aching. The pain is most likely from being bashed against the wall with such force earlier, and the constant running probably hasn’t helped. You lean over, resting your hands against your knees for a moment as you catch your breath, trying to steady your pulse. The run has served to slow your tears a little, but your distress is still close to the surface, and your throat stings heavily with dryness from sobbing and hoarsely breathing in the night air. Feeling shaky and disoriented, as well as still terribly upset about everything, you look up at your surroundings, trying to figure out where your adrenaline has carried you to. After casting around for a few seconds, your eyes searching the darkness for a familiar landmark, you recognise the white-fronted houses, and the little roundabout in the road behind you – you’re on Sinclair Road.

Your sadness must have instinctively caused you to try to find Brian, despite not having a plan as you’d escaped the house in a flurry of tears, and picturing him in your mind, seeing his kind face and the arms you long to be held by, you suddenly feel a desperate need to be with him, wanting him to take away your pain. You stride quickly down the long street towards your destination, growing more and more impatient with every step, though your few remaining wits caution you that he might not be there, and not only that, but you’ve acted rather poorly in your hurry to get away from your house, as you haven’t brought a jacket to keep the coolness of the night away from your skin, also neglecting to bring your keys with you, leaving you unable to get back into your house, when you inevitably have to return. Shaking the sensible thoughts away and just wanting to be consoled, you pick up the pace, half jogging towards Brian and Roger’s apartment.

Upon reaching the door, you begin to hammer on it, all control lost once more as the reality of the situation wells up inside you once more; Harry will probably never speak to you again. He told you how important you are to him, how much he loves you, and then shunned you in the same conversation, severing the bonds between you irreparably and physically hurting you in the process. You’ve never felt so dejected, and the tears that you thought had ceased come rushing back, spilling all over your cheeks saltily. The seconds seem to drag on as you stand out there alone, waiting for a reply that might never come, but to your relief, the door swings open finally, revealing Brian, who’s wearing a striped jumper and a very confused look of concern.

“Love?” Before he can say anything more, and before you can stop yourself, you throw yourself at him with a sob, gripping him tightly around his chest and burying your face into his warmth.

“Brian!” you wail, shuddering and feeling as though you’re about to explode with all of the emotions swelling up within you.

“What’s happened?” Brian quizzes urgently, putting his arms around you and guiding you into the flat so that he can close the door, the two of you moving in tandem, attached.

“Harry,” you blurt through your tears, huge sobs wracking through your body, and for a minute, you can’t speak properly, totally overcome. Brian seems to understand, holding you closely and rubbing your back soothingly.

“Just take deep breaths,” he suggests softly, “it’s alright.” The two of you stand there, clinging to each other and letting your near-inconsolable sorrow pour out of you as you cry hysterically, like a child. Eventually, it slows down enough to allow you to speak, albeit haltingly. Brian takes you over to the sofa, sitting down with you and asking you again to explain what has happened, and though you look him in the eye for a second, you feel somewhat ashamed at how you’ve arrived unannounced, looking a complete mess, and crying more than you possibly ever have in your life. Despairing, you bury yourself in his chest before answering, giving him a sob-riddled account of what happened between you and Harry, before you’d unintentionally escaped and found yourself here.

With every sentence that you say, Brian’s arms come more tightly around you as he makes shocked noises of deep concern, unable to believe Harry’s actions himself. By the time you’re finished relaying the story, you realise that Brian’s jumper is now rather wet from your tears, and your face must look a state. Brian, however, doesn’t seem to care, more concerned with making sure that you’re alright.

“Does your head still hurt?” he asks, prising you gently away from his chest so that he can look you in the eye.

“It’s not too bad,” you admit, noticing that the throbbing has dulled somewhat. “I think it’s just because I’m crying. I didn’t hit it that hard. It was more my back, than anything, but I’m alright.” The corners of his mouth curl further downwards, but he seems to accept your reassurance that you don’t need medical help.

“Did he really say all that about me?” he asks, looking alarmed and regretful. “He’s out of his mind, but at the same time, the last thing I want to do is cause you trouble-“

“Don’t be silly, Brian,” you refute, interrupting him. “It’s all him. You haven’t done anything, and neither have I.” Replaying Harry’s wild accusations in your head, the hurt of it all rises up inside you again, seeming to never end. “I don’t understand why he sees it like this, trying to make me choose between him and you, as if it’s a reasonable thing to ask. I don’t get it!”

“I think he just wants you all to himself,” Brian states, not in a scathing way, but simply stating what is most likely the sad truth. “He can’t handle the person he loves giving any of their attention to someone else.” Nodding woefully, you accept it.

“He’s still a child,” you note. “He can’t stand to watch me be happy with you. He thinks it means I don’t care about him anymore.” Recalling everything Harry said, his admission that he’s always been so insecure without the presence of your missing father and the approval of your success-obsessed mother, and his incredibly misguided notion that you can’t have a serious boyfriend and be his loving sister at the same time, you feel yourself physically hurting inside at the damage that it’s caused between the two of you. “I’d never give Harry up for anything…” Fresh tears cascade down your face as you acknowledge the truth. “…but he’s given me up instead.”

As more sobs begin to spasm in your ribcage, Brian pulls you back towards him, your face resting against his shoulder as he comforts you as best he can, kissing the top of your head and caressing your arms and back. His curls moving briefly against you, it seems as though he’s shaking his head in disapproval of Harry’s actions.

“Stupid boy,” he says matter-of-factly, before his voice grows soft once more. “I won’t have him hurt you again like this,” he states, sounding gentle but determined. “It’s gone on long enough. Don’t feel as though you have to be around him anymore, if you don’t want to, and if he says anything more to you when you go home, you just tell me, okay?” You nod against his jumper, grateful that Brian is taking your side.

Exhaling heavily, you squeeze your eyes shut, as if forbidding any more tears, despite the fact that you feel as though you could probably cry forever; your own brother, your best friend, has essentially disowned you, and you’re quite sure that nothing will ever repair what has been broken by his hostility. Though your hysterics have passed, you find yourself shedding a few more tears, mourning the loss of the person you’d valued so much more than he’d realised. In contrast to the quietness of the room, the phone suddenly rings loudly, causing both you and Brian to jump slightly.

“I’ll get it,” Brian says, letting you prise yourself from him as he gets up to cross the room. Given a moment to take in the flat, you fleetingly wonder where Roger is, as you’d certainly wailed loudly enough earlier that he would have noticed.

“Hello? Oh-“ Brian turns to you with the phone still in his hand, casting a sorry look over your deflated form, you skin still streaked with tear tracks. “-yes, she’s here.” You realise from his response that it must be your mother on the phone, trying to find out where you are, and you feel slightly guilty for running off without letting her know where you were going - not that you knew yourself, at the time. “Well, yes,” Brian continues in reply to whatever your mother is saying, “I do know what happened. Really? Ah, I can imagine.” He talks to her for a minute or two, probably about the argument, before his gaze lands on you once more.

“No, I think she’ll stay here tonight.” He looks at you as if asking with his eyes if that’s what you want, and considering that you couldn’t possibly face being in the same house as Harry right now, you nod in return, grateful for Brian letting you stay on such short notice. He ends the conversation, hanging up the phone, and strides back across the room to sit next to you again. The two of you intertwine immediately, almost fully reclining on the sofa as Brian kisses you softly, and you rest your face against his damp jumper once more.

“This is so horrible, Brian,” you state, unable to put your grief into more articulate words, and he nods.

“I know, love,” he replies quietly, his hands tracing lines up and down your back soothingly, “I know.” A few quiet minutes pass, during which neither of you speak, simply resting in each other’s arms, before the door of the flat opens and Roger walks in. He immediately eyes the distraught and exhausted look on your face, his brow creasing.

“What’s happened?” he asks, skipping the greetings, and Brian speaks for you, sensing your tiredness.

“Harry tried to tell her that she can’t have a boyfriend and be his sister at the same time, accusing her of everything under the sun, and then kicked her out of the band and told her never to speak to him again, throwing her against a wall.”

“And he called me a slut,” you add, mustering enough energy to deliver the short sentence, which only serves to intensify Roger’s wide-eyed expression of shock. You watch as he processes the information, his dismay giving way to anger on your behalf, and though you don’t believe him for a second, you can’t help but appreciate what he says anyway.

“I’ll kill him, the bastard.”


	28. I've Turned My Back On Those Endless Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been days since Harry had basically attacked you that night, severing the last remaining emotional threads that bound you together as friends and siblings, and every day has been an ordeal. Little do you know that someone has been thinking about how to help you, and may have come up with a really great solution.

The last few days have been possibly the most uncomfortable of your life; after staying the night at Sinclair Road, unable to face the idea of going back to the site of your horrible fight with Harry, you’d had to eventually bite the bullet and return home. You’d felt a small relief when the scene you’d been expecting hadn’t happened, as Harry had been absent once more, leaving you to re-enter the house without another attack. However, the days that followed proved to be almost unbearable; though you and Harry haven’t laid eyes on each other since that fight, Harry continuing to take great lengths to avoid both you and your mother, the atmosphere in the house has been incredibly tense and unnerving. Perpetually unsure of whether Harry is in his room or not, and whether he might turn up and cause another painful scene at any moment, you’ve been walking on eggshells the entire time, not even able to relax properly in the solitude of your own bedroom. Your mother had fussed over you heavily upon your return, which hadn’t actually helped, drawing more attention to the incident, if anything. She also hadn’t seemed to figure out how to handle Harry’s actions, despite having what was apparently a rather raucous argument with him after you’d fled the house. Now the pair of you are spending your days as quietly as you can, neither of you daring to disturb the potentially explosive Harry, the threat of whose presence looms over you constantly like a bomb that could go off at any moment. It’s been stifling, near-silent, and downright miserable.

Sitting in your room, you continue to partake in what has become your main activity, now that you’ve finished college – doing nothing. You’re still incredibly unsure as to what you want to do with your life, knowing that biology is definitely not for you, coupled with the fact that your enthusiasm towards music had been so violently shot down as Harry had forbidden you from being in the band anymore. It’s left you feeling completely lost, unsure of what to do, and feeling more and more guilty with every unproductive day that passes. Your mother has continued to quiz you daily on your progress in getting a biology-related job, seeming to be more hopeful about it than ever, which makes your guilt even worse, and the constant turmoil of it all has caused your mind to become a very hectic, disorganised and uncomfortable place to be.

Glancing around the room absent-mindedly, you spy something that might just distract you for a little while; your eyes fall upon your guitar, leaning nonchalantly against the wall in the far corner of the room, and upon seeing it’s familiar curves, your mind is filled with melodies, mostly derived from the memories of writing songs with it. It does remind you of the band, in a very bittersweet way, but at the same time, you still feel as though you can call yourself a musician nonetheless, so finding some enthusiasm, you rise from your bed to pick the instrument up. Resting it across your knee, your hands instinctively move to where they want to be, and you let them choose the song, following the lead your muscle memory provides. As the air fills with the sound, you feel yourself beginning to relax a little more, still in love with the noise the guitar makes, and the notion of everything that you could create with it. You play for a few more minutes, humming along to accompany yourself, until a strange noise catches your attention, one not produced by the guitar.

Halting the song, you listen as an odd rustling comes from your right hand side, and looking towards the direction of the sound, you spot a piece of paper protruding from underneath your door, evidently having just been stuffed through the gap between the door and the carpet. It grows still, the rustling stopping with it, and intrigued, you set your guitar aside to retrieve it. It would be quite unusual for your mother to do something like this, as she tends to knock and enter instead. Turning the paper over in your hands, you feel your breath catch in your throat as you realise that whatever is written on it is in Harry’s handwriting – he must be in his room. The realisation causes you to freeze in place for a moment, simultaneously scared that something bad may happen and worried about what he apparently has to say. Trying to exhale your nerves as best you can, you read the note, feeling your stomach clench with hurt as you do so:

‘Give it up, sis. No one’s ever gonna want you in a band. Stop kidding yourself and shut the fuck up.’

Though only written, the words hit you harshly, as though they’d been yelled at you, pricking more holes into your already fragile emotional state. Attempting to calm your breathing, which is currently threatening to become unsteady with upset, you tell yourself that it’s just another one of Harry’s childish jabs, with no truth to it, no real meaning. However, your anguish only heightens when your ears pick up on another new sound coming through the wall that separates your bedroom from Harry’s.

The unmistakable twang of a guitar breaks through the quiet, just as yours had moments earlier, only this time, it’s Harry playing, and he’s going all out, trying to essentially deliver the most rip-roaring solo he can manage. Understanding his vindictive motives all too well by now, you acknowledge that he’s trying to demonstrate the apparent point that he’s better than you at the instrument, solidifying his statement about your inadequacy by upstaging you and drowning you out. Despite the fact that it is incredibly childish and pathetic, the malicious intent behind it still hurts your feelings, knowing that he’s purposely trying to upset you for his own entertainment. You desperately try to hang onto your composure, but find that you don’t have the energy for it, caving in and letting the tears that have risen into your eyes fall. Everything that has happened so far is bad enough, but his insistence on continuing to torment you is just unnecessary – can’t he just let things lie?

Scrunching up the note in your fist, you throw it into the bin next to your desk with force, as if trying to throw all of your sadness with it. After wiping away your tears and doing your best to pull yourself together, you try to ignore Harry’s attempts to hurt you and do something else. However, his incessant soloing still hasn’t ceased, and the noise is driving you mad, so wanting to get away to somewhere quiet, you leave your room and head downstairs.

As you approach the living room, you find yourself feeling grateful that your mother is out at work, as you don’t particularly fancy giving her another reason to worry about the apparently destroyed relationship between her two children, and on top of that, you don’t want to hear any more job talk, which is most likely what you’d get if you spoke to her. Finding yourself in an empty room, your eyes drift over the furniture to land on the telephone, causing you to instantly head towards it – talking to Brian will probably help you to feel better.

Taking a seat in the chair next to it, you pick up the phone, dialling the number for Sinclair Road, now by heart. Unfortunately, the phone rings for a long time, until it becomes apparent that nobody is going to answer, and crestfallen, you replace the receiver, having hoped to talk to someone. After a minute, you try again, hoping that perhaps Brian and Roger had just been upstairs and hadn’t made it to the phone in time, but the same thing happens again, confirming your suspicion that the two of them must be out of the house. Hanging up and feeling defeated, you begin to resign yourself to the idea that you’re just going to have to get through the day alone, before another idea comes to you – Freddie. Picking the phone back up and dialling his number instead, you feel quite sure that Freddie would be willing to hear you out and cheer you up. The phone begins to ring, and you start to get the unfortunate feeling that this call will also go unanswered, until just as you’re about to give up, a voice appears on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi Mary, it’s me.” Recognising her voice instantly, you’re taken a little by surprise, having been so focused on the idea of Freddie. “How are you and Freddie doing?”

“Oh, hello,” she replies, sounding cheerful. “We’re doing well, thanks. Did you want to speak to Freddie?” Smirking a little at how well she knows you, you confirm it, and she calls him over. You hear her tell him that it’s you, and there’s a brief silence as he takes the phone from her.

“Yes, hello, this is the Mercury residence,” he purrs into the phone comically, rolling the ‘r’ in ‘residence’, and you exhale a small laugh, grateful for his silly humour and ability to make you smile even when you’re upset.

“Hello, Mr Mercury,” you reply, playing along with his pretence. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Not quite, but I do need to pop out for a bit soon. Did you want something?” Freddie seems to be in a chipper mood, so you’re somewhat loathe to dampen his spirits, but hearing his voice does make you want to offload your woes to him, so you relent and tell him the truth.

“I suppose I just need cheering up, Fred,” you answer, your tone of voice sinking a little. “Harry’s been a complete arse again. I’m a bit upset.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he laments dramatically, “not again! I’ve just about had enough of him.” Despite his flamboyance, you can tell from his tone of voice that he’s on your side, and genuinely cares about your feelings. “Go on then,” he continues earnestly, “tell me all about it. What’s that rat done to my little clementine?”

You spend a few minutes telling Freddie about Harry’s attempt to upset you with the note, followed by the unnecessary din of his guitar playing that you’d had to endure shortly afterwards. Freddie understands your point of view exactly, agreeing with you that Harry’s actions are no more dignified than a child having a tantrum, and insisting that you shouldn’t take it to heart. While your mood isn’t exactly transformed by the conversation, you’re still very grateful that he’s taking the time to listen and make sure that you’re okay.

“Besides,” Freddie continues, a cheeky tone beginning to creep back into his voice, “he’s not THAT good, so he has no right to be bragging about it!”

“No,” you agree through a short laugh, “he’s not as good as Brian, for a start.”

“Exactly!” Freddie emits loudly, and you feel yours smile grow with the knowledge that he’s turning the conversation silly again to cheer you up. “I’d like to see those two have a guitar-off and see who wins. Brian would stomp him into the ground!” You giggle, and he exhales a laugh of his own, seeming pleased that he could improve the mood somewhat. “I don’t know,” he despairs jokingly, “what are we going to do with him? He needs taking down a peg or two. Shall I step on him with my high heels? How about it?” You begin to laugh more earnestly at the notion, glad that Freddie’s here to make light of the situation with.

“Thanks Freddie,” you say honestly, after your giggles cease. “I just needed a chat.”

“No problem, darling,” he replies, the familiar tone of his voice comforting to hear. “I am going to have to head out now though, I’m afraid,” he adds regretfully, “so I hope you’ll be alright.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you reply, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Don’t let me hold you up.” After once again encouraging you not to worry about Harry, and insisting that you’re quite wonderful, Freddie bids you goodbye, making an audible kissing sound down the phone just before he hangs up. It puts another smile on your face, and as you put down the phone, you thank your lucky stars that you have him as a friend. However, the tense atmosphere in the house still lingers unpleasantly, and you feel as though you should probably go somewhere for a while to escape it, at least until your mother comes home. The thought of Harry coming downstairs to get a drink and continuing his ridiculing of you face to face is very unsettling, and not something you want to let happen.

Jumping up from the chair, you head back upstairs and into your room to find a pair of shoes to put on, resolving to just go for a walk in the nice weather, perhaps around Holland Park. However, as you’re slipping your foot into one of your shoes, a thought occurs to you – perhaps Brian hadn’t answered the phone earlier because he’s at college? It would certainly make sense, as he still uses the facilities to research things for his thesis, and the temptation to see if you can find him there quickly becomes very strong. Putting a few necessities into your bag, you decide to give it a try, conceding that if it doesn’t work out, you’ll have at least escaped this awful house for an hour or two.

__

The bus ride towards Imperial College passed uneventfully, though you’d grown accustomed to travelling to and from college alone in the last weeks you’d attended as a student, so in a way, it hadn’t seemed too out of the ordinary. As you stride towards the building, once again feeling strange for returning as a graduate, as you had done during the job fair, you mentally cross your fingers in the hope that Brian is here somewhere. Your first instinct is to check the sandwich bar, as it’s closest to the entrance, but he’s nowhere to be seen, so you head further into the building, finding yourself beginning to wander a little aimlessly, unsure of where he might be. You try to recall the typical locations of the physics classrooms, on the off-chance that he’s listening to a lecture or chatting to a professor, but come up rather short, and start to feel a little foolish for coming here, especially due to the fact that he might not be here at all. Walking on autopilot, you realise that you’re heading towards the library, and resolve to check there before giving up the idea.

The corridor leading up to the library is almost as quiet as the library itself, hushed underneath a perpetual blanket of near-silence, only disturbed by the sound of pages turning, and the odd chair scraping against the floor. Trying to break the atmosphere as little as possible, you creep stealthily into the room, heading towards a shelf of books so as not to stick out, and scanning the faces of the students currently working quietly. For a moment, it looks as though you’re out of luck, but just as you’re about to turn and leave, you crane your neck once more to look towards the very back of the room, and spot a wonderfully familiar mass of curly hair.

Sighing in relief, you make your way quickly across the room, glancing apologetically at the odd student that momentarily looks up from their work as you pass. The brief disturbance seems to rouse Brian from whatever he’s concentrating on too, as he also turns his head to glance at the source of the sound. When he sees that it’s you, he almost double-takes before swivelling in his chair to face you more directly, looking pleasantly surprised to see you. You smile in return, and though his expression is relaxed, there’s something about it that suggests that he might suspect that there’s an unsavoury reason as to why you’ve suddenly appeared out of the blue in a place that you don’t need to be. He stands as you approach him, and glad to be in his presence, you reach for his outstretched hands with your own.

“What are you doing here?” he quizzes with interest in a near whisper, trying to maintain the hush of the room.

“Sorry,” you apologise in a similarly quiet tone, feeling a little guilty for disturbing his work. “I know this is a bit random. I was looking for you.” His curious expression seems to deepen as you say this, although there’s a hint of worry in his eyes that you’re loathe to vindicate.

“Something happen?” Exhaling in defeat, and acknowledging the fact that Brian cares enough about you by now not to let an undisclosed problem go ignored, you decide to be honest with him, despite not wanting to put a downer on his day.

“Just Harry,” you inform briefly, knowing that the library isn’t exactly the place to be having an in-depth discussion about your personal affairs. “Nothing major, just made me upset.” You watch the concern gather in his eyes as he looks at you, and though you’re not really supposed to be here, you feel relieved that you can be with someone who cares so much about you, in stark contrast to Harry’s evident indifference.

“Come and sit down,” he invites, sinking back down into his seat as you follow suit and take the chair next to him, your hands still linked. “We can go somewhere else, if you like.”

“You’re busy,” you point out, glancing at the open books in front of him and shaking your head. “Carry on with what you’re doing. I can wait with you for a bit.” Brian nods at your words, but then his eyes slide away from yours as he thinks, seeming to become suddenly pensive. You say nothing, waiting for him to explain himself, as he gazes off to the side, clearly contemplating something deeply. In the silence, you find yourself admiring the lines of his mouth, and the way his hazel-green irises are partially veiled by his eyelashes, his gaze cast slightly downwards. After a few moments, he meets your eyes again, seeming more lucid again.

“If you just let me finish writing this out,” he begins, nodding to a page of unfinished notes on the table, “will you come back to Sinclair Road with me?”

“Alright,” you agree with enthusiasm, glad to have somewhere to relax, away from the troubles of home. However, taking in Brian’s still thoughtful expression, it seems as though there might be something that he’s not saying.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” The sentence rouses your curiosity strongly, wondering what this impending conversation could entail, but he doesn’t seem to be about to unveil it just now. Squeezing your hands and smiling, he swivels back to face his work. “I’ll be as quick as I can with this,” he says, picking up his pen and tracing his finger across the text of one of the books, trying to locate where he’d left off.

The two of you sit in the library for about half an hour, Brian copying down the information he needs from the book, and you content to relax and entertain yourself with watching him work. Finally leaving the stress of home behind, you’d cast sideways glances towards him as he’d concentrated, laughing internally at his almost illegible handwriting, which looks as though it’s in permanent italics and rather difficult to read. In a way, it suits him well, as most of his perfectionism and care goes into his guitar playing, leaving not much left for anything else. The peace of the library had been rather comforting as you’d sat there, enjoying the smell of well-worn books and the sound of Brian’s pen scratching against the page as he scribbles away. Eventually, he stops writing, looking over his notes before nodding and closing the book he’d been reading from.

“That’ll do for now. Let’s get going.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, feeling guilty for cutting his research session short. “I really don’t mind waiting, if you need to do more.”

“No, it’s alright,” he insists, gathering his books together. “I can do this any time. I’m not in a hurry.” Accepting his kindness, you rise from your chair as he puts his things away, and the pair of you make your way out of the library and down the stairs to exit the building. The Summer sun beats down on you brightly as you stride out into the open air, making the short walk to the bus stop a pleasant one. Once the two of you arrive, waiting for the next bus to take you to Sinclair Road, Brian puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him slightly, and you blush when you realise that he’s looking at your mouth instead of your eyes, betraying what he wants to do without him saying it. Smiling, you lean towards him, and he eagerly meets you in a kiss, seeming as though he’d been waiting for a proper opportunity to do so.

“So what happened, then?” he asks, his voice louder now that the two of you are no longer having to keep quiet. “What did Harry do now?” Your mood dips just a little at the mention of Harry, but you’re also grateful for another chance to offload the remaining upset still lingering in your chest.

“I was playing guitar in my room, and he slipped a note under my door, saying that I might as well give up, because no one would ever want me in a band, and to shut the fuck up. And then he started soloing like mad, trying to prove a point, or something.” You roll your eyes as you recount it, realising just how stupid of him it really was, now that you’re saying it aloud for the second time. “I know it was just silly,” you continue, “but it just really bothered me. I know I can’t go back to the band now. I think he was trying to rub it in my face.” Brian’s eyebrows flatten somewhat as he gains a look of disdain for Harry’s actions.

“That is silly,” he remarks, shaking his head, “and it is rude of him to try to make a point like that, after throwing you out of the band so horribly. It’s no wonder you’re missing being a part of the creative process. I will say, though…” His eyes meet yours knowingly, a smile spreading across his face. “…it’s him that’s missing out really. He’ll be lost without your good ideas.” Grateful for his attempt to cheer you up, you return his smile gladly as he leans down to kiss you on the forehead. As he withdraws, the bus you need to take pulls up, so the pair of you separate momentarily to get on, paying your fares and taking seats close to the front. Once settled again, Brian puts his arm back around you, and you lean into his warmth, a welcome sensation despite the heat of Summer.

“I’m just glad Harry didn’t hurt you again,” he continues more quietly, worry dissolving from his expression. “I’ll never forgive him for pushing you around like that.” Riding the surge of affection that follows his words, you take his free hand in yours, smiling at the way he always seems to be thinking of you, anxious to be sure that you’re safe.

“No, not this time,” you reply, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s just really awful being at home. Well, it has been for a while, but especially after the other day-“ Falling silent, you realise that you don’t really have adequate words to describe how tense and unbearable it’s been.

“I’m not surprised,” Brian replies understandingly, his arm tightening slightly around your shoulders. “It’s not nice being around someone who constantly tries to get you down, never mind if it’s your own brother. You don’t deserve it, that’s for sure.”

“It’s just really exhausting,” you continue, letting your frustrations empty out of you. “Even when he’s not in the house, it’s like mum and I are on high alert, in case he walks in and starts causing a scene. I haven’t seen him, but I dread it all the time, and now that he’s pulled this stupid prank, I know that he wouldn’t be able to resist saying something horrible. I know it’s – well, it’s over between us…” The fact begins to truly sink in as you say it out loud, acknowledging that Harry will probably never speak to you normally again, and that the deep friendship you’d enjoyed as siblings is really over this time. It causes an uncomfortable sinking feeling to swell in your chest, and you find yourself simply smiling wanly at it, having cried enough recently to not have any tears left to shed. “…but I hate that he’s still trying to upset me after all that. I don’t think he can resist sticking the knife in further. I can’t stand being at home, and now that I’m not at college, I’ve got nowhere bloody else to go!” You look up at Brian, laughing darkly at your predicament, and he shoots you a smile that barely hides the pity he evidently feels for you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, pulling you closer to him. “You know I’m always here for you, if you need anything. I can’t always help, but I can try.” Exhaling, you smile at his words.

“You always help, Brian,” you reply honestly, and he relaxes a little, planting another kiss on your face. Engrossed in your embrace, the two of you almost miss your stop, realising at the last moment, and giggle as you step off the bus after having staggered towards the front hurriedly. It doesn’t take long for you both to reach the flat, and you feel even more relaxed as you step into the familiar living room, glad that you don’t have to return home just yet.

“Alright, you two?” Roger greets, looking up at you cheerfully, and he stands up from the sofa as you cross the room to give him a hug. He must have only returned to the flat recently, having not answered the phone when you’d called hours earlier.

“Getting away from the house for a bit,” you inform light-heartedly, trying not to make a big deal out of the situation, and he simply nods with a grin, knowing full well why you’d want to hang out here instead.

“Make yourself at home,” he encourages, gesturing towards the sofa, and you plop down next to him. After a moment, Brian strides towards the two of you, but hesitates before sitting down, looking just as thoughtful as he had in the library, reminding you of the fact that he’d wanted to talk to you about something. Roger adopts a similar facial expression to yours as he gazes up at him, seemingly waiting for Brian to announce what’s on his mind. “The sofa doesn’t bite,” he teases, and though Brian doesn’t react straight away, almost as though he hadn’t heard the comment, he slowly pulls himself back to the present moment again, eyeing Roger seriously.

“Can I have a word quickly?” Nonplussed about the fact that he’s inviting Roger for a private conversation instead of you, you lean backwards into the sofa’s cushions as Roger stands up and follows Brian out of the room. “Sorry,” Brian calls back to you with an apologetic expression, “we’ll only be a minute.” You nod, indicating that it’s okay, and let them go, confused, but sure that you’ll find out what’s going on soon enough. Thankfully, only a couple of minutes pass before the pair reappear, your period of solitude shorter than you’d thought it might be. When they return, they both wear expressions of anticipation, looking conspiratorially between each other, and you find yourself unable to guess what they might have been talking about. Feeling as though this is a strange turn of events, you wait with bated breath to hear what this is all about.

“We want to ask you something,” Roger begins, reclaiming his original seat next to you, and Brian plonks himself down on Roger’s other side, as if on autopilot. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’,” he continues, “but we just thought that since you’re having such an awful time with Harry, you might appreciate something different.” Still none the wiser, you glance between the boys as they regard you seriously, and Roger leans back slightly to let Brian speak.

“It might seem like quite a big change,” he says, his tone soft and caring, “but if it’d make you happier, then we’d love to help.”

“Spit it out, Brian,” Roger chides with a smirk, and you laugh briefly, wanting to hear whatever this proposal is even more, now that they seem to be making something of a big deal about it. Brian smiles, looking slightly nervous before resting his eyes on you again.

“If you’d like,” he continues, “Roger and I are more than happy for you to move in with us.” At first, you’re not entirely sure whether you’d misheard him or not, but after goggling at their serious faces for a moment, you realise that you hadn’t been mistaken – Brian and Roger just offered for you to move into Sinclair Road. For a few seconds, you struggle to compute the situation, completely taken aback by this sudden gesture and unsure of what to think, but after struggling with yourself for a moment, your mind sputters back into action.

“Are you serious?” Both Brian and Roger smile and nod simultaneously, looking a bit like synchronised robots in their agreement.

“Yeah, it’s not fair, you having to put up with all that crap at home,” Roger replies warmly. “It’d be easier for you here, if you fancy it.”

“Yeah,” Brian chimes in, “you need to focus on whatever it is that you want to do, and you can’t really do that at home, with Harry acting like that all the time. I’m sure he wouldn’t bother you much if you came to live here.”

“Nah,” Roger responds with a shake of his head. “I don’t think he’d show his face here after what happened last time. He’s not exactly our favourite person anymore.” He snorts with amusement at his own comment, and you join him, as ‘not our favourite person’ is a very mild way of putting it.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I moved in here with you two?” you clarify, still unable to wrap your head around this new possibility that has opened up.

“Of course not,” Roger replies easily, squeezing your shoulder briefly. “It’d be great. Only if you want to, though.”

Letting the idea really sink in, your gaze moves to Brian, who is contemplating you with what seems to be a somewhat hopeful look. As your eyes meet, he smiles fondly, and you begin to feel so touched that the two of them would consider your comfort to the point that they would offer to share their home with you. They really are true friends, everything else aside, and it makes you want to snatch the pair of them right up and hug them tightly, if your arms were big enough. Instead, you simply let the grin forming upon your face grow as you regard them with affection.

“This is honestly so nice of you two,” you say earnestly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, we’ve been talking about it for a short while,” Roger replies, glancing at Brian, who nods in confirmation. “You need to get away from that idiot, we can tell you that much!” He and Brian chuckle, before turning back to you expectantly. “So,” Roger continues, “what do you think?”

You take a moment to turn the matter over in your mind; it would feel strange to leave your home so suddenly, having never lived anywhere else, and distancing yourself from your mother and Harry would definitely feel odd, despite the fact that neither of them are particularly helping your situation. There’s also the fact that you have no idea what you’re going to do with your life, and not currently having a job, you wouldn’t be able to contribute to rent and bills until you sort something out, which would certainly make you feel guilty. However, Brian and Roger’s generous offer does also highlight the point that you really do need to get away from your current home environment; Harry seems only capable of spouting abuse towards you, ruining every day and casting a horrible shadow over everything, and while your mother means well, her incessant nagging about well-paid careers in biology is not what you need, considering that you’re thinking of abandoning that path. If you’re going to get a hold of your life and do something with it, you’re going to need peace and quiet, as well as a supportive group of people around you, and you’d gain both of these things if you moved into Sinclair Road. On top of this, you’d never need to worry about missing Brian, or wanting to talk to him about your worries, as at the very least, you’d see him every morning and evening, between his trips to college and Queen activities. As you mull it all over, it begins to make more and more sense, and nodding, you realise that you can only give one answer.

“I think I’d really like to come,” you reply at last, beaming at the pair of them with gratitude, “if you’ll have me.” Brian’s face instantly lights up at your words, and you share a pleased grin, before Roger breaks the moment by cheering comically and pulling you into a hug.

“It’ll be great,” he repeats, squeezing you with a chuckle. “We can help you bring your stuff over – just let us know when you want to do it.”

“Thanks Roger,” you emit through a smile, and as he lets you go, he stands up to move out of the way so that you and Brian can embrace each other. Brian’s grip on you is tighter than usual, and you get the idea that he’s quite relieved that you agreed to move in. Still reeling a little, you almost have to pinch yourself to be sure that the situation is real – you’re leaving home to live with your wonderful boyfriend, and one of your closest friends. As you withdraw from Brian, who looks down at you with what seems to be a lot of thoughts behind his eyes, Roger appears to sense that he’d better give the two of you a moment of quiet, making his way towards the stairs. However, he doesn’t disappear before shooting you one last remark, grinning like an idiot.

“See, now you’ll be able to shag Brian whenever you wa-“

“Do you mind?” Brian’s interruption doesn’t stop both you and Roger from bursting into a fit of giggles, and the release that comes with it is so enjoyable, after having to endure so much tension at home. Despite having tried to shush Roger, Brian caves in and laughs along with you, his adorably pointed teeth making a brief appearance, before pulling himself together, and Roger leaves the room, smirking as he goes. Settling down again, you return your gaze to Brian as he turns back to face you, his arms coming around your shoulders.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, searching your eyes deeply. “I want it to be completely your decision.”

“I’m sure, Brian,” you reply with a smile, knowing in your heart that you mean it. “You’re right about everything – I need to get out of there. Besides,” you continue, averting your eyes for a second bashfully, “we’ll see each other so much more now.” A similar colour begins to flush Brian’s cheeks as he smiles, looking a little embarrassed, but pleased nonetheless.

“Yeah, we will.” One of his hands slides down your arm to grasp your hand gently, his thumb running over the back of it in affection. “I know it’s probably a bit sudden, you know…” His shyness creeps in for a moment as he pauses tentatively. “...and it’s not the most romantic reason for you to be moving in…” You have to stifle a small laugh at how flustered he is, but let him get around to what he wants to say in his own time. “…but I think it’ll be really nice. If you’re not comfortable with anything-“ He suddenly looks a little alarmed, as though he doesn’t want to come across as too presumptuous. “-you know, we don’t have to share everything, if you don’t want to, if you need space-“

“Brian.” The simple utterance of his name causes his verbal skittering to stop, and he pauses, realising that he might have been getting overly anxious about the situation. Tightening your hand around his, you can’t help but smile honestly as you continue. “It does feel a bit sudden, but at the same time, I do want to share everything with you. I’ve really been missing you recently, so…” Confiding this to him makes you feel even more glad that you won’t have to miss him anymore. “…it’s not too much. I want to be here, with you and Roger. I can’t thank you enough for being so kind.”

“Nonsense,” he replies, regaining his composure and smiling. “You know we’re both here for you, and, well, I want to do whatever I can to make you feel better about things.” His hand releases yours, moving instead to cup your cheek delicately, his eyes seeming to cloud over with a strong feeling. “I really want you to be happy.” The force of his affection almost causes you to surge forwards and kiss him immediately, the bliss of it filling your chest with bubbles, but you contain yourself enough to reply first.

“I am happy,” you say, drinking in his adoring expression and returning it to him, the troubles of the day seeming so trivial in comparison to this moment. “I’m always happy when I’m with you. I’m happy right now.” This time, Brian is the one who can’t help but put his feelings into action, leaning in to kiss you deeply, and you follow suit eagerly. As the pair of you continue to intertwine, embracing and kissing with real meaning, you feel your brain whirl with many sensations all at once – things are going to change now, and no matter how tumultuous the journey may be, you’ll have Brian by your side.


	29. Leaving Home Ain't Easy, But May Be The Only Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've spent weeks feeling exhausted, worried and tense, but now it's time to take a big leap - you're moving out of your home to go and live with Brian and Roger at Sinclair Road. The process is more emotionally complicated than you'd imagined, and the day is difficult. However, things take a different turn when Freddie shows up out of the blue, and he's got something very important to say.

Today’s the day; as you sit on your bed and stare with a small amount of disbelief at the bareness of the room, you note in your mind that this is really it – you’re moving away from home for the first time, removing yourself from the family unit that you’ve been a part of all your life. The thought fills you with trepidation, despite the fact that you’ve definitely made up your mind about it, causing your brain to work overtime, skipping from one disconcerting thought to the next; thoughts about Harry, and how much you probably deserve to find some peace after everything he’s put you through. Thoughts about your mother, and how she might struggle to deal with Harry’s mood swings and antagonistic behaviour once you’re gone. A small part of you, buried deep inside, still seems to hold onto some hopeless wish that things between you and Harry will go back to normal, that the situation will somehow be saved, that you won’t have to do this. You can’t deny that you’re looking forward to living with Brian and Roger, two of the main people who have supported you throughout all of this, but at the same time you’d just never envisaged a future that didn’t include your brother by your side… but there’s no time to think about that now. Disturbing your rising emotions, the sound of a knock on the front door breaks the quiet, sombre atmosphere, and you shake yourself off mentally as you rise from your bed to answer. Upon opening the door, you can’t help but smile a little at the sight of Brian and Roger waiting there, looking enthusiastic and ready to help.

“Got one,” Roger says, jerking his head backwards, and as you look behind the pair of them, you spot a good sized white van parked outside the house. Roger had mentioned the possibility of borrowing a van from someone to help make the move easier, and it seems that he’s been successful.

“Looks good,” you muse, eyeing the van for a moment. “It’s bigger than I thought. I’ll probably be able to fit everything in without having to come back for another trip.”

“Really?” Roger replies in a cheeky tone. “You’re a girl – I’d have thought you’d have at least twelve boxes of shoes, for a start!”

“We are moving me, you know,” you shoot back quickly, “not Freddie.” The three of you chortle at the joke, and you feel yourself relax a little from the tension that’s been eating you up all morning, glad that the two of them are here. “Alright, I suppose we’d better get started.” The boys nod, and follow you into the house as you retreat back inside.

You’d been preparing to introduce them both to your mother, as neither of them have actually met her before, despite talking on the phone a few times. However, to your surprise, she’s nowhere to be seen, which you find a bit strange; she’d taken the day off work in order to help out and say goodbye, as she’d been very emotional when you’d told her that you’d made up your mind to leave, but her absence suggests that she hasn’t come downstairs yet. Shrugging it off, you imagine that she’ll show up at some point, and instead, take Brian and Roger upstairs to your bedroom to begin moving your belongings into the van.

“Is this it?” Roger asks as you all enter, taking in the modest stack of boxes and bags, your guitar case leaning against the wall behind it.

“I don’t exactly own much,” you reply with a grin, “considering I had to share almost everything with Harry, and he nicks things all the time. Haven’t you lost things to your sister?”

“The odd thing,” he relents at your reference to his younger sister, who you’ve only heard about briefly, “but I don’t think me and Clare argue over things anywhere near as much as you and Harry!” A small snort of laughter escapes you as you realise that he’s completely correct.

“No, I don’t think any pair of siblings in the whole of England do,” you comment somewhat darkly, and though the three of you laugh, an uncomfortable tension rises in the air as you all mentally remind yourselves of the reason you’re moving out in the first place. Thankfully, the boys don’t seem to want to let it linger, as Brian strides across to the pile of boxes in an effort to divert the conversation.

“Shall we get moving, then?”

“Yeah, give me that,” Roger replies, nodding at the box Brian is reaching for. You’re grateful of the change of pace, busying yourself with picking up another box once the boys have grabbed one each, making your way back downstairs and out to the van. After Roger opens the back doors, revealing the cavernous interior, you become even more confident that your things will definitely fit in without the need for a second trip, which will shave a bit of time off the move.

“Just pop them there,” Roger says as he climbs into the van, and you and Brian place your boxes at the van’s entrance where Roger can move them further in. At first, you’re not quite sure what the strange feeling that comes over you is, as you watch him slide the boxes across the floor and up against the van’s wall, but after a moment, you realise what this bittersweet nostalgia relates to; memories begin to flood your mind of yourself, Harry, Tom, Dave and Charlie, hauling musical equipment into the back of Charlie’s rusty old van, fresh from a gig, or the rehearsal studio. The thought is both heartwarming and upsetting, tainted with the knowledge that you’ll never make any more memories like that with any of them, and it makes you wonder about your bandmates – Harry might be a lost cause, but does that mean that you can never talk to Dave, Tom or Charlie again either? Unsure but somewhat pessimistic, you resolve to try to forget about it for now, not wanting to focus on painful things. As if reading your mind, Brian touches your shoulder gently, pulling you out of your mental quagmire.

“Let’s get some more,” he says softly, seeming to sense that a lot is on your mind, and smiling at how well he knows you, you nod in agreement, following him back into the house, Roger not far behind. The three of you make a few trips back and forth between the house and the van, making relatively quick work of it, and you find yourself feeling more grateful than ever that they’d been nice enough to help out, as it would have taken you much longer by yourself. As you all exit out into the daylight once more, each carrying a box or bag, you’re distracted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and turning awkwardly, a box still in your hands, you see that it’s your mother.

“Hi mum,” you call, halting in the doorway, and as she replies, Brian turns back towards you with an encouraging smile.

“Talk to her for a bit,” he suggests, evidently wanting to let you iron things out with her as best you can before you leave. “There’s not much left to do, anyway.”

“Alright,” you agree, once again noting how thoughtful he is, and wondering what exactly it is that you’ve done to deserve it. You comply as he lowers the box he’s carrying, instructing you to put yours on top so that he can take both to the van, and once you’re sure that he’s got them both safely in his arms, you head back inside. Your mother is hovering somewhat awkwardly in the living room, and smiles as you enter, though it looks a little forced.

“All set, then?”

“I think so,” you reply, the air in the room beginning to feel strange. “Brian and Roger are here helping me.” She nods, fidgeting nervously, and though you’re not about to change your mind about what’s happening, you can’t help but feel guilty; your poor mother had pulled out all the stops to raise you and Harry after your father had left all those years ago, working all hours of the day to make sure that you’d had everything that you’d needed, had good schools to go to, and a warm home to call yours. She’d shouldered the burden of being a single parent, giving her all to provide for you, and now that things have turned incredibly sour in a way that none of you could have predicted, you’re leaving her to cope with Harry alone. It’s not exactly your fault, or your responsibility to attempt to parent your own brother out of his aggressive ways, but it is going to be hard for her now, and though her biology talk has driven you mad, you’re going to miss her. Feeling more guilty than ever before in your life, you can’t help but cross the room towards her, putting your arms around her. She tenses in surprise, but sinks into your embrace, and the pair of you stand there silently, too many words swirling around within the both of you to be adequately expressed.

“Sorry,” she whimpers after you withdraw, dabbing tears away from her eyes with a handkerchief she produces from her cardigan pocket. “I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.”

“Me too, mum.”

“You know, you can always come back,” she says as she composes herself, “any time.” You nod, knowing that it’s true. You’re a little shocked that she’s not attempting to change your mind, even at this stage, as when you’d first broken the news days ago that you’d wanted to move out, she’d been upset and reluctant to let it happen, wanting desperately for you to stay within her sight. However, as the days had passed, she’d seemed to come to understand your motives, especially after you’d mentioned how irreparable the relationship between you and Harry is, considering everything he’s done over the past few months. In the end, she couldn’t deny the fact that you need to move away from him and get on with your life, and evidently hoping for peace and progress instead of constant fights, she’d given you her reluctant blessing. You almost want to talk about Harry for a moment, but feel as though it would probably just open another can of worms that would be best remaining shut.

“I’ll give you a ring when I’m all settled in,” you promise instead, hoping to lighten the mood slightly, and she nods with a smile.

“Don’t forget about graduation,” she replies, a more urgent tone to her voice, and you assure her that you won’t; the letter you’d received with your results had also contained the date of your graduation ceremony, which at this point is next week, and now that you’ll be living away from home, the two of you will have to coordinate things in order to enjoy the day together. It’s probably going to be something of a strange day, given everything that’s happened, but at least you don’t have to worry about it just yet.

“And tell me about any jobs you find,” your mother continues, rousing you from your thoughts, and you nod again. “I’ll keep an eye out too, and see what I can find. We’ll make a well-paid scientist of you yet!” Almost wincing at the comment, you don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re well and truly past the idea of following that career path, so you agree guiltily for now, wanting to make today a little easier - that’s another thing that you’ll have to deal with later.

Before either of you can say anything else, Brian and Roger appear in the doorway, evidently having just arrived back in from loading the van. Considering how many minutes have passed, you get the idea that they’d purposely stayed outside for a while, to give you and your mother time to talk privately, another item to add to the quickly growing list of things that you need to thank them for.

“Mum, this is Brian,” you say, gesturing towards him, and he immediately approaches her with a friendly smile. You can tell from his face that he’s a little nervous, which you find quite cute, and as you continue to introduce them to each other, he greets her warmly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, at last,” he laughs, and she smiles along with him, agreeing.

“And this is Roger,” you continue as Roger follows suit, making his way towards you all with a grin. As the three of them begin to make small talk, you notice yourself feeling a little frazzled, probably from constantly trying to keep your emotions in check, so hoping that the boys will be okay with chatting awkwardly with her for a minute, you start to slip out of the room.

“I’ll go get some more stuff,” you inform when their heads turn your way, and they nod with smiles.

“We’ll join you in a minute,” Roger replies, and you shoot him a grateful look as you leave, heading back upstairs. Once the sound of chatter becomes more distant, you begin to feel a little calmer, looking forward to hopefully having a quiet evening, once you’ve got all of your things unpacked at Sinclair Road. Entering your room for the umpteenth time, you notice that Brian had been right – there isn’t much left to take to the van now. Your guitar still leans against the wall in it’s case, waiting for it’s turn to be carried out, and the sight of it causes the painful nostalgia of the band to resurface in your mind, making you wonder what Harry must be thinking right now; not able to face him physically, you’d slipped a note under his door last night, informing him that you’d be leaving, hoping desperately that it might illicit at least some small remorseful response from him. Regardless of the way he’s treated you recently, you’ve been the firmest of friends and the closest of allies for a long time, so even just a tiny part of him must be sorry to see you go… mustn’t it?

Almost subconsciously, you find yourself walking back into the hallway, treading gingerly towards Harry’s bedroom door. You’re not entirely sure why you’re doing this, as the thought of being face to face with him again is a little too much to handle, especially considering that this is the exact spot where he hurt you the most. Despite the pain of it, your curiosity still gets the better of you, allowing the part of you that wants to say goodbye to him to win you over.

You’re about to raise your hand to knock on the door when you realise that it’s already partially open, letting only a small crack of light bleed through the gap. Unsure as to whether this means that he’s home or not, you brace yourself, praying that this doesn’t backfire and lead to another horrible scene, and push the door gently. It squeaks on it’s hinges as it moves, giving you a slightly wider view of the room, but there’s no response on the other side, so you push it more forcefully, allowing it to swing completely open. You’d been fully tensed in anticipation of seeing Harry there, your free hand bunched into a fist and your shoulders raised tightly, so it’s something of a anticlimax when you see that his bedroom is empty.

Letting yourself relax slightly, you step cautiously into the room, as if Harry could burst out of a corner at any moment to attack you. However, as you take in the mess of clothes and belongings strewn around, and the unmade bed in front of you, it becomes apparent that you really are alone. A large sigh escapes you, split almost equally between relief and disappointment, and unsure of what to do with yourself now, you cast your eyes around the room once more, just wanting to have some sort of last feeling of connection with your brother. After a moment, your gaze lands on something that you recognise, laying on the floor in front of his cupboard – the note you’d left him last night. Your handwriting is visible on it’s upturned side, revealing the one simple sentence that you’d managed to muster:

‘I’m leaving tomorrow, Harry, and I’m not coming back.’

To see the note disgruntled on the floor, abandoned and not cared for, is to feel one final knife digging into your back; Harry evidently either doesn’t care that you’re leaving, or is too selfish and cowardly to apologise, or tell you if he’ll miss you. This unavoidable truth rings audibly in your mind, the soundtrack to the final nail being hammered into the coffin of this whole ordeal – it’s over.

You want to leave the room, but your legs won’t seem to move, apparently as numb as the rest of you is. However, after a few moments of deafening silence, you hear footsteps approaching the door. For a moment, you hold your breath in both terror and anticipation at the idea that it might be Harry, unsure of what may happen if it is, but your anxiety is quickly dispelled when a much more friendly face appears; Brian lingers in the doorway, seeming to have been looking for you, and gazes at you with a somewhat mournful expression, as though he can guess what you might be thinking, standing in Harry’s room like this.

You smile wanly at him, and he enters the room, wordlessly taking you into his arms. The pair of you stay in the embrace for a little while, simply sharing your grief without saying anything, and oddly, it’s comforting enough that you don’t end up crying, to your surprise. Though everything feels awful right now, you’re also gratefully aware that in a few hours, you’ll probably be at Sinclair Road, your belongings unpacked and in their new rightful places, and you’ll be cuddled up with Brian and Roger on the sofa, laughing and joking, away from all of this. After squeezing your shoulder comfortingly, Brian withdraws slightly to look down at you, his eyes swimming with almost as many feelings as yours.

“Come on,” he says encouragingly, steering you gently towards the door. “Let’s get home, eh?” The reminder that Sinclair Road is now the home that you will share with Brian and Roger from tonight onward makes you smile, your optimism getting the tiniest bit brighter as you and Brian leave Harry’s room and head back into yours. When you approach the doorway, you see that Roger is currently picking up several bags, the room looking much emptier than before.

“It’s just this, now,” he says cheerfully when he notices the pair of you, nodding to a few more bags and your guitar case.

“Great,” Brian remarks with a smile, “let’s take them down, then.” He removes his arm from around your shoulders while shooting you a brief look, as if to say that everything will be alright, before striding into the room and manoeuvring all of the remaining bags into his arms. “Just grab your guitar,” he says with a smile, “that’s everything.”

“Are you sure you can manage all of those?” you ask, grinning slightly at the mountain of bags piled up in his arms, and slung across his shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he confirms, and you comply, heading across the room to pick up your guitar case. As Brian takes the bags downstairs, following Roger out to the van, you look around your room one more time to make sure that you haven’t forgotten anything. Feeling content that everything’s accounted for, you stand there a moment longer, realising that you’ll probably never see this bedroom again – it’ll probably get turned into a spare room for guests after you leave. Feeling both the fond and painful memories of everything that’s happened in this room fill you up, you say a silent goodbye in your mind, slipping away before the intensity of it causes you to burst.

When you get back to the van, Brian and Roger are stacking your things together to make sure that things fall over as little as possible. You wait behind them, watching them work, until they seem satisfied, and then Roger takes your guitar from you and slots it beside some boxes, where it shouldn’t move around too much.

“I think that’s it,” he announces as he and Brian clamber back out of the van, Roger slamming the doors shut firmly. “Have you got everything?”

“I think so,” you reply, starting to feel ever so slightly excited, now that the packing is over, and all that awaits is to start unpacking at the other side. “I suppose I’ll just say goodbye to my mum, then.”

“We’ll say goodbye too,” he says, and the three of you make your way back into the house. Brian makes a point of being friendly towards her as you all bid her farewell, seeming to want to make a good impression, which makes you smile. Sensing that you’ll probably want to say your goodbyes to your mother more privately, Roger offers to go and start the van, both he and Brian heading outside with a wave. Once you and your mother are alone once more, it seems as though neither of you know what to say, never having been through something like this before. Before you can come up with anything, she simply moves towards you, pulling you into another hug, and you relax a little, accepting that it might be best not to say too much.

“I really hope things will get better,” she says after a moment, her voice emotional but steady, and one last pang of guilt rises within you, before you squash it down.

“Me too.”

It’s not until Brian closes the door to the van behind you all, and you spot your mother waving from the front door, that it truly sinks in – there’s no going back now. You’ve flown the nest, for reasons you never imagined would ever exist, and all you can do now is hope to make something better of your future. As Roger clicks the handbrake off, setting the van into motion, your chest swells with an incomparable mess of feelings, and you try to ignore the fact that you’re pretty sure that your mother is crying again. Waving one last time at her, she begins to fade out of view as the van takes you away from the only home you’ve ever known, and along the brightly lit roads towards a new one.

__

The drive to Sinclair Road hadn’t taken long, but you’re still grateful for the van that Roger had managed to borrow, which has made things a whole lot easier. The three of you had been less talkative on the short journey, Roger and Brian seeming to sense your slight fatigue, after having your emotions pulled this way and that as you’d prepared to leave home. You’ll be glad when today is over, and you can properly relax for the first time in god knows how long. As you’re contemplating this, your attention is pulled back into the moment by Roger suddenly piping up.

“Is that Fred?” Looking up to view the scene as the van pulls up to the kerb outside the flat, you notice that he’s right; Freddie is sitting on the steps leading up to the door, wearing a white, silky sleeveless top with flowers embroidered around the neckline, and looking elegant as always, despite his somewhat undignified choice of seat. As soon as he sees you all approach in the van, he leaps to his feet, looking suddenly enthusiastic, and after Roger turns off the engine, you all climb out of the van.

“How long have you been there?” Roger shouts to Freddie as he makes his way towards you, and Freddie waves his hand ambiguously.

“Long enough,” he replies, although he doesn’t seem annoyed. “I did ring you, but obviously, you didn’t answer. Today’s the day, isn’t it?” He looks at you with a smile as he asks this question, and you’re surprised that he remembered you telling him that you’d asked Brian and Roger to help you move today.

“It is,” you reply, sinking into him when he swoops in for a big hug. “Are you here to help?”

“Darling,” he croons as he withdraws, swishing his hair dramatically. “I’m always here to help!” You giggle at his theatrics, but notice that his face grows more serious as he turns to Brian and Roger. “There is another reason I’m here, though,” he adds, looking rather conspiratorial, as though he’s about to divulge a juicy secret. “I had a phone call not long ago that the pair of you might find rather interesting.” Brian and Roger become instantly intrigued, but Freddie appears to not want to reveal all just yet, tapping the side of his nose with a sly grin.

“Don’t come here to brag about something, and then not tell us,” Roger goads teasingly. “What’s happened?” Apparently too tempted to keep it hidden any longer, Freddie rolls his eyes and faces you all squarely, looking as though he’s relishing the taste of the words he’s about to deliver.

“I got a call from Norman at Trident,” he begins, seeming to enjoy the way Brian and Roger perk up excitedly at the mention of something potentially relating to Queen’s progress with EMI. “He told me that EMI have finally got their shit together, and, well, you’ll never guess what?”

“What?” Roger practically shouts, and you’re not sure if it’s more out of anticipation, or impatience at Freddie’s dramatic delivery of this information. Freddie beams at the three of you before uttering his next sentence.

“It’s on – ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ is set to be released as a single on the sixth of July, followed by our album on the thirteenth!” Despite the somewhat muted and melancholy atmosphere that had haunted you, Brian and Roger for the majority of the day as you’d packed and left home, this new development is so exciting that the three of you instantly gasp, sharing incredulous glances and grinning from ear to ear.

“Really?” Brian asks, his voice louder than you’re used to in his elation, and Freddie nods demurely, before his excitement breaks his composure, and he jumps in place, pumping his fists into the air.

“Yes! We’re going to be famous, I tell you!”

“This is amazing,” Roger emits through a giant grin. “It’s about time!” The three of them laugh happily, patting each other on the shoulders, and your troubles momentarily forgotten, you feel your cheeks begin to hurt from how wide you’re smiling.

“I’m so pleased for you all!” You dart forwards to hug Freddie again, this time in congratulations, passing the embrace to all three of them. By the time you’ve finished, you’re all practically clutching your faces, unable to suppress the joy on them.

“But haven’t we got a little someone to move into this flat, before we do anything else?” Freddie says, looking towards you with a warm smile, and everybody nods in agreement, remembering why you’re all here. Brian moves to unlock the door, while Roger opens the van and begins sliding the bags and boxes towards it’s entrance, ready to pick up. You grab one of the nearest boxes and heave it upwards, making sure you’ve got a good grip on it before stepping around the van. Before you can get very far, Freddie appears in front of you, looking eager to help.

“Let me carry this,” he says, but just as you’re preparing to hand him the box, he reaches towards you, prising from you the flowered clip that you’re wearing in your hair. The action confuses you for a moment, but you can’t help but laugh as he slides the clip into his own hair with a tenacious grin, winking cheekily before prancing off into the flat behind Brian, having not actually helped at all. It’s such an incredibly Freddie thing to do, and his high spirits serve to bolster your own, as you make your way up the steps and through the door.

__

It hadn’t taken the four of you too long to move all of your things into the flat, Freddie actually carrying the occasional bag in the end, and you’d all enjoyed unpacking the items and finding new places for them to belong. As you gaze around, you find yourself feeling oddly satisfied; the shelves are now filled with not only Brian and Roger’s books, but your own too, your clothes hanging neatly alongside Brian’s in his wardrobe, and your record collection merging with theirs to form an even bigger library of music. To top it off, your own guitar and Brian’s beloved Red Special now sit side by side, looking like a pair of old friends. There’s something about it all that warms your heart, glad to know that this is where you’ll be spending your days, alongside Brian and Roger, where Harry probably won’t dare to bother you. Exhaling a heavy sigh, releasing an unimaginable amount of stress from your body and mind, you begin to finally relax, knowing that all that’s left to do today is have fun, and celebrate Queen’s upcoming single and album release.

As the news was rather spur of the moment, and a little late in the day, you’d all decided that instead of having a wild night out like you’d had after Queen got signed, you’d instead have a fun night in at Sinclair Road. Freddie had used the phone to call John, inviting him to come over, and bring whoever he fancied, but not before insisting that Mary join you all too. Roger had joined in and invited Josephine, and a few other friends had been contacted with the good news. Not too much later, the lot of you are lounging in the flat, enjoying the groove of the music coming from the record player and the flow of drinks. Making your way into the kitchen, you spy Freddie getting himself a glass from the cupboard.

“Time to get shit-faced again?” you ask teasingly, referencing how eagerly he’d wanted to get drunk the night you’d all gone out to celebrate.

“Oh, no, not tonight,” he replies with a giggle. “I don’t actually drink very much, you know. Of course, there are special occasions…” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh. “But since we’re not out on the town, I won’t bother. I’m just going to have…” His sentence hangs in midair as he procures a bottle from a cupboard underneath the sink. “…a cheeky little port and lemon. Would you like one, dear?”

“Go on, then,” you relent, indulging his suddenly modest taste in alcohol. Once you locate the lemonade, the pair of you make the drinks together, putting the bottles back where you found them.

“There,” Freddie announces, “not that you’ll find any slices of lemon in this dump.” He then slaps his hand to his mouth in over-exaggerated horror. “Oh, wait – it’s your new home now, isn’t it?” You playfully slap his arm as he descends into giggles, sufficiently riled up by his excitement over the album launch to really start mocking people in jest.

“You’re quite the hellion today, aren’t you?” you scold jokingly, and once you stop attacking him, he slips his arm around your waist in affection.

“It’s my job, sweetie! Now, let’s walk and talk.” He picks up his drink, prompting you to grab your own, and the pair of you rejoin the party in the living room. Finding an arm of the sofa to perch on, you continue to enjoy the festivities; it’s a modest but lively get-together, and as drinks go down and spirits rise up, you find yourself genuinely starting to feel better about things. Brian grasps your hand with a smile as you all chat, Roger and Josephine sitting closely alongside Freddie and Mary, who look just as besotted with each other as always. John had brought his girlfriend, Veronica, who you hadn’t met until today, and she proves to be quite interesting - a Polish girl who’d been training to be a teacher when she’d first met John. Smiling as you watch everybody chat and laugh, you realise that this is the first time the Queen boys and all of their girlfriends have been together in the same room, and it’s a nice feeling. There are also a couple of people you aren’t too familiar with, although you suspect that a couple of them might have been among Freddie’s friends who’d tagged along on Queen’s big night out. All in all, it’s proving to be a pleasant evening.

“I’m famished,” Freddie announces suddenly, standing up from his chair. “Does anyone want to get a takeaway? I quite fancy an Indian.” Before anybody can answer him, Roger jumps in with a smart comment.

“Why, is he rich?” Freddie guffaws at the joke, and everybody else follows suit, giggling at Roger’s quick tongue. You do feel momentarily bad that another queer joke has been made at Freddie’s expense, remembering the ribbing he’d gotten from his band of male friends. However, Freddie seems to take it in his stride easily, as though he’s used to it by now.

“Don’t be silly, Rog,” you quip, wanting to get in on the teasing, “the only person Freddie fancies is himself.” Even Mary giggles at this, and Freddie turns towards you, for what you suspect to be a tongue-lashing. However, he breaks into a grin, not rising to your taunt.

“Oh no, darling,” he says, gesticulating flamboyantly while batting his eyelashes, “you know I’m not Indian. I’m a perfectly dandy Persian popinjay!” The boys all laugh heartily as he poses, and you find yourself smiling endlessly at how adorable he is. The conversation moves on, turning to the fact that tonight is your first night in Sinclair Road as a resident, and everybody congratulates you on the move.

“It’ll be great having a girl around here,” Roger comments, and somehow, you just know that another joke is bound to come out. “This place could do with a good clean!” You’re proven right, and as everyone bursts out into raucous laughter at his mock sexism, you rise from your perch on the arm of the sofa to bat him on the shoulder, putting on an offended pretence.

“You little-!” He squirms, grinning as he attempts to dodge your hits, trapped between Brian and Josephine on the sofa. “If you think I’m gonna be making your bed for you every morning, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Oh, no, I don’t want you going in my room!” he retorts playfully, still trying to avoid you as you swat at him.

“Well, I’m not scrubbing the toilet after you’ve been on it, either!” To your surprise, Brian chimes in at this.

“Oh, god,” he laments, pretending to massage his temple with his hand in weariness, “don’t bring the state of the toilet into this.” Everyone chortles raucously, and you stop hitting Roger and make your way back to your seat, laughing all the way.

“I should never have moved in here,” you wail jokingly, rousing more grins from Roger and Brian. “I’ve made a horrible mistake!”

__

The group had enjoyed plenty more drinks and laughs, and then just after midnight, Brian had quietly asked if you’d wanted to retire for the evening, seeming eager to have some quiet time with you alone. While you’d been enjoying everybody’s company, you did have to admit that the thought of winding down after a busy and emotionally demanding day appealed to you. After saying goodnight to everyone and making your way upstairs, the two of you had stumbled your way through a somewhat clumsy bedtime routine, during which you weren’t sure who should use the bathroom first, and where some of your things were, now that they all have unfamiliar homes, for the time being, until you get used to it. After giggling at the awkwardness of it, the pair of you are now ready to sleep, having closed the door to Brian’s room – no, your shared room. Of course you’ve slept in this bedroom many times over the past few months, but all of it feels different tonight, knowing that this is now your room, your bed, your space, just as much as it is his. Brian stands up from his seat on the bed and crosses the room, his arms finding their way easily around your waist. You lean into him, reaching up to hold him around his neck gently, and drinking in the warm gaze he gives you.

“Which side of the bed do you want to sleep on?” he asks, and you exhale a short laugh.

“The middle,” you reply with a smile, “as long as you’re there with me.” He chuckles, pulling you in close and kissing your hair.

“Are you sure you’re okay with all this?” He withdraws slightly to look at you again, seeming a little more serious. “You’ve been through a lot today. It’s understandable if you’re feeling unsettled.”

“I’m alright,” you insist honestly, grateful for how much he cares about you. “I won’t lie, this does feel a bit weird, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon. I’m glad to be here with you, instead of back there with them.” You don’t need to reference your mother or Harry by name for Brian to know exactly what you mean, and he nods, his curls bouncing slightly.

“Well, if you need anything, or you’re not happy, just tell me, okay?” His eyes search yours for confirmation. “I want you to feel good about being here.”

“I do,” you reply, drawing him closer as he had done with you. “You’ve been so good to me, Brian. How could I be unhappy?” You feel Brian’s chest move against you as he exhales a short laugh, seeming to accept your reply.

“Alright. Let’s get to bed, shall we?” Nodding, you follow him towards the bed, climbing in, and Brian pulls the duvet up over the both of you. You expect him to turn out the lamp on the bedside table, but he lays down beside you first, apparently wanting to see you a little longer before darkness envelops the room. The pair of you instantly become entwined again, embracing under the covers and enjoying the comfort that comes with it.

“I’m really glad that you’re here,” Brian murmurs, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek, and your skin blushes under the warmth of his thumb.

“I honestly can’t thank you enough for everything,” you reply quietly, feeling a little dazed at how much affection Brian seems to have for you. “I’m lucky to have you.” Brian shakes his head instantly, the arm around your shoulders holding you a little tighter.

“No, I’m the lucky one.” He says this not while looking into your eyes, but at your mouth instead, and you know by now what this means. Leaning closer to him, you close your eyes as he kisses you firmly, his feelings tangible in the way his lips caress yours. As the two of you kiss in the low light of the room, comfortable and at peace, you find yourself so thankful that the dilemma of your mother and Harry is now far away, and that this is how you get to fall asleep tonight – in Brian’s arms.


	30. Shake The Dust From My Shoes, There's A Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally the day of your graduation, and while it is a happy day for you, you're also full of uncomfortable feelings, wishing that Harry were graduating with you, and that all of this horrible business between you hadn't happened. However, Brian surprises you with just how much he really cares, turning the day from something potentially awful into something much different.

Turning this way and that, you question the mirror again, but the reflection within it doesn’t give you the answer you’re hoping for; it’s the day of your graduation, only just a week after your move to Sinclair Road, and things have been a strange mix of enjoyable and odd. You’re still not quite used to the idea that this is where you live permanently, feeling a bit like a visitor who’s outstayed their welcome and should be heading home, but there have also been some nice moments with Roger and Brian that have begun to put you at ease somewhat. Figuring that it’ll probably take some time to adjust, you’ve been doing your best to just relax, and you have to admit that above all, being away from your mother and Harry has actually been almost blissful. Being able to just enjoy the calm atmosphere and act without worrying about the repercussions has made you truly realise just how awful the perpetual arguments, raised voices and awkward, tense silences were. You might not exactly have things worked out yet, but you’re at least starting to feel a bit more like yourself.

However, you’re getting the feeling that today might prove a little awkward, and as you eye your reflection in the mirror once again, you hope that it won’t feel too strange to go back to Imperial College one last time, looking out at your mother in the audience as you claim your qualification. You haven’t seen her since you’d left, only calling her once to confirm that you’d gotten all of your things settled in the flat, and it does feel odd to go from seeing her every day, to the point of her almost being a nuisance, to not seeing her at all.

Sighing at the sight of your attire, you accept that this is probably the best you can do. Ordinarily, you would have gone out and bought a nicer dress for the graduation ceremony, but of course, things have been anything but ordinary recently, and you just hadn’t given it a thought. Making do with the nicest sensible dress you own that doesn’t look as though Freddie designed it, you turn to put your things into your bag, glancing momentarily out of the window and feeling grateful that the weather is nice enough that you don’t really need a jacket. As you check to make sure that you have everything, you hear a familiar padding of footsteps coming up the stairs, relaxing slightly as your gaze falls upon their owner.

“You ready?” Brian smiles warmly, making his way towards you as you nod, and you can’t help but grin as you see how much effort he’s gone to; clad in a black and white suit, tie and all, he seems to want to scrub up as best he can for your graduation, and while you wouldn’t have minded if he’d dressed more casually, his level of care is sweet and thoughtful enough to make you feel grateful. You and Brian had agreed to go to Imperial College together, meeting your mother there before the ceremony, and it’s almost time to go.

“You look nice,” you tell him, and he shakes his head bashfully.

“You look better.” Blushing slightly, you don’t bother expressing your disappointment that you hadn’t been able to buy a more glamorous dress for the occasion, as you already know by now that Brian would insist that he’d appreciate your looks even if you’d dressed in a bin bag. Accepting the compliment, you reach out for his hands, nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach, and he grasps you firmly.

“I feel a bit weird,” you admit, the thoughts you’d been trying to ignore growing stronger, now that you’re about to head out. “This is very different from how it would have been before.” A little pang of guilt hits you instantly after you say this, not wanting to seem ungrateful that you’re spending today with Brian, but at the same time, you can’t deny your feelings; if all of this unexpected and truly horrible drama hadn’t happened, you’d currently be at home, having just put on your expensive graduation gown, pausing to help Harry fix his tie. The pair of you would be giggling, partially in disbelief that you both actually made it through the drag of biology and out the other side, and also in anticipation of the musical hi-jinks you’d undoubtedly be plotting, instead of getting proper jobs. Your mother would be ushering you both into the car, driving you to college, and in the end, she’d look up at the pair of you with pride as you accept your scrolls, excited and ready to begin the next chapter of your lives together as best friends, side by side.

Thanks to such incredibly unforeseen circumstances, you have no idea where Harry might be right now, what he’s doing, or what he’s thinking about his future, or about you. You’ll be getting the bus to college, meeting your mother there, and striding out onto the stage alone, looking back at her and hoping that all of this hasn’t broken her heart. You’ve been trying valiantly all morning to suppress the sinking feeling that all of this gives you, but it’s been very difficult to ignore. You’re jarred from your thoughts, however, by Brian’s arms coming around you, pulling you close to him, your face resting against his shoulder.

“I know it must be strange,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down your back soothingly. Seeming to understand that nothing he can say will change things, he simply holds you for a moment while you attempt to let go of your troubles. As you take in his familiar scent and the warmth of his body, you feel yourself relax again, realising that though today does contain some disappointment for you, it also has an important upside – Harry might not be here with you, but Brian is. He’ll be the one to take you to college, to steady your nerves, to walk you into the auditorium with pride, and while he can’t be there on stage with you, he’ll be sitting alongside your mother, beaming up at you with that dependable, affectionate smile that always fills you with happiness. Exhaling and burying your face further into his chest, you count your lucky stars that you even know him.

“I’ll be alright,” you tell him as you both withdraw, Brian’s arms staying around your shoulders. The pair of you share a long smile, and then Brian nods, seeming to accept that nothing more needs to be said.

“The table’s booked,” he says, changing the subject, “so that’s all set. I hope your mum will like it…” Laughing quietly, you remember the fact that Brian had wanted to take you and your mother out for dinner after the ceremony, evidently wanting to get to know her a little better, and gain her approval as your boyfriend. He seems to be quite nervous about it, which only makes you find him more adorable.

“She will like it,” you insist with a grin, “and she’ll like you too, so stop worrying!” Brian emits an awkward chuckle, but relaxes a little despite his anxiety. He then straightens up, looking as though he’s just remembered something, and removes his arms from around you to delve into one of his pockets.

“I, um-“ Growing shy, he breaks eye contact for a moment to focus as he produces something – a blue box that looks as though it’s from some sort of jewellery shop, although you can’t guess which one. “I got you something, as a graduation present.” You feel yourself gasp slightly as he presses it into your hands, touched that he would do something like this, especially because you know that none of the Queen boys have much money to spare in their current position.

“You didn’t have to, Brian,” you reply breathily, and he shakes his head again with a fond smile.

“I know I didn’t.” Regarding you eagerly, he seems anxious to see you open it, so you prise the box open gently, intrigued as to what could be inside it. When your eyes fall upon the present, you can’t help but smile widely; a delicate golden pendant looks back at you, decorated with filigree in the shape of a star, and it’s centre boasts a small set of gems, embedded in a circle. The pendant hangs upon a lengthy gold chain, and as you continue to gaze at it in surprise, you feel a swell of affection for Brian, as you can hardly imagine a more fitting present to receive from him – something that reminds you of the stars. It’s so inescapably ‘Brian’. A joyful sound escapes you as you take it out of the box to examine it more closely, and Brian shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking simultaneously glad and rattled.

“The gems are coral,” he informs timidly, “so – I hope it’s okay.” Beaming at how generous and thoughtful he is, you finally look up at him again, your approval clear upon your face.

“I love it, Brian,” you reply honestly, putting the box down to undo the clasp on the chain. “I’ll wear it right now.”

“You don’t have to, “ he emits, “if it doesn’t go with your outfit.”

“It’ll remind me of you,” you tell him with a smile. “Why wouldn’t I want to wear it?” Brian’s cheeks flush as you put on the necklace, admiring the way it looks. “I hope it didn’t cost too much.”

“If you’re happy with it, then it doesn’t matter,” he replies, and as your eyes meet again, he draws closer, leaning down towards you slowly. You meet his lips eagerly, and as your stomach flutters at the kiss, you find yourself wondering how he can still make you feel so giddy. Granted, it’s still been only months that you’ve been together, so the pair of you are probably still in your ‘honeymoon phase’, as they call it, but it still creeps up on you every now and then, taking you by surprise just how much he affects you. Looking up at his gorgeous hazel eyes as he withdraws, you find yourself beginning to relax properly, and through his efforts, regaining the feeling that today is a special day, rather than a disappointing one – it’s about you, not anybody else.

__

The bus ride to Imperial College had been a strange one, sitting there in your somewhat fancy attire among the other more modestly dressed passengers, adding to the sense of occasion. The pair of you are now striding up to the main building, looking for a sign of your mother, who should be waiting for you. After casting around for a moment, you hear her voice calling out to you, and turning in it’s direction, you finally spot her waving from between other sets of chatting graduates and parents. As you smile and begin to head over to her, you feel Brian squeeze your hand nervously, and you’re not entirely sure if it had been on purpose or not. Glancing up at him with what you hope is a comforting smile, you reassure him that he doesn’t need to worry, and he nods, seeming to appreciate it.

“There you are,” your mother states as she reaches out to hug you, seeming relieved to see you. As you embrace her back, her arms tighten around you a little more than you’d like, and though it hurts a little, you realise that she’s probably missed you horribly in the week that you’ve been gone – it’s probably been just as strange for her as it has been for you. She lets you go somewhat reluctantly, and you do your best to appear as calm and optimistic as you usually are to put her mind at ease.

“Brian,” she says, turning her attention to him, and you have to smother a laugh as they greet each other somewhat awkwardly, Brian looking as though he’s rather out of his comfort zone. “It’s so nice of you to come today,” she continues, and though she doesn’t say that she’s finding his presence welcome in the absence of Harry, you still get that idea. Deciding not to bring him up at all, at the risk of spoiling the moment, you squash your curiosity and refrain from asking what Harry has been up to since you’ve left.

“Look at the present he got me,” you say instead, trying to keep the mood light, and your mother smiles as she examines the pendant you hold up from around your neck.

“Oh, how lovely!” Brian grins, too embarrassed to say anything, but thankfully, your mother seems eager to get on with things. “Shall we go inside?” Nodding in agreement, the three of you head towards the building’s open doors, the atmosphere buzzing with the excitement of hundreds of students and their families.

After strolling to the auditorium, a member of staff had welcomed you and instructed you about where to go to prepare for your big moment. Feeling a little reluctant to leave them so soon, you accept that for now, you’ll have to peel yourself away from your mother and Brian in order to head backstage to put on your ceremony attire.

“I can’t wait to see you up there!” your mother coos as she hugs you once again, and you can hear in her voice that, just as before, she’s putting all of her hopes and focus upon your success, in the wake of Harry’s failures. Sighing quietly, you acknowledge in your mind that it’s okay, that in a way, this is as much her day as it is yours, as she’s the one who’d wanted the both of you to achieve highly in education, and that just for today, you’ll let her celebrate you as the golden child of the family without complaints. When she withdraws, Brian moves in to take her place quickly, hugging you tightly.

“You’ll be great,” he says quietly, kissing your cheek. “Look for me – I’ll be here.”

“I will,” you reply, grateful for the comfort he continues to bring you, and let him go, the staff member escorting him and your mother to their seats. After watching them for a moment, you turn on your heel and head towards the backstage area of the auditorium.

The air in the room is tense with anticipation as you join the groups of graduates chattering excitedly as they put on their robes and caps, and you claim your own, feeling a little strange as you don them. Once you’re ready, you wander through the room, looking for a place to sit as you wait to be called to attention, but before you can find one, you notice somebody waving at you, and look up to see a couple of your old biology classmates beckoning you over. Glad to have someone to talk to, you join them as they retake their seats on the chairs lining the wall.

“Are you excited?” one of them asks you with an ecstatic grin, and you nod as you try to mimic the same expression, feeling a little out of place. “I spent ages trying to get my hair right, and now it’s getting squashed by this bloody cap!” You all giggle, and as they talk about their dresses and how excited they’d been to doll themselves up for the occasion, you feel even more awkward, considering that you’d ended up essentially abandoning that side of graduation, heavier subjects on your mind. However, you try to stay upbeat and remind yourself that it doesn’t really matter, and that your day isn’t going too badly, until one of them asks you a question that you’d hoped wouldn’t come up.

“Where’s your brother, then?” It feels as though a rock drops into your stomach as you hear her words, and you can’t help but hesitate for a second before replying, in an attempt to prevent your entire demeanour from darkening.

“He didn’t graduate,” you reply simply with a wan smile, not wanting to explain it any further. The girls appear shocked and concerned for a moment, but when you don’t say anything more, they seem to latch onto the idea that it’s not a subject that should be explored.

“Oh, well, perhaps he can retake the final exam again in the future?” Nodding, you mentally thank them for not prying any further.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So, who’ve you brought with you, then?” the other girl asks, changing the subject somewhat, and your relief grows as you reply.

“My mum and my boyfriend.”

“Ooh, boyfriend?” The two girls become somewhat doe-eyed as they grin, evidently excited about this piece of gossip – you hadn’t had a boyfriend when you’d been classmates. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a guitarist,” you reply with a smile, their giddiness somewhat catching, “and he’s working on a PhD here at the moment.” The girls exchange glances at this information.

“He sounds interesting! Are you doing something special after the ceremony?”

“He’s taking me and my mum to dinner, actually,” you inform, feeling slightly bashful as you’re reminded of how thoughtful Brian is being today. “He bought me this, too.” You hold up the star pendant to them, and they emit excited ‘ooh’s as they behold it, seeming to be enjoying hearing about your relationship.

“Someone’s getting spoilt!” One of them nudges you with a giggle, and you can’t help but join in, glad to have moved onto more comfortable topics of conversation.

The three of you continue to chat and wait, waving and greeting other familiar biology students as they filter into the room, until eventually, you’re all summoned to the far doorway and instructed to line up in alphabetical order, once your name is called. The dense crowd becomes restless as they wait to be called upon, and you hurry to join the line once you hear your own name, parting from the girls you’d been talking to, who wish you luck cheerfully. Once everybody is arranged correctly, you’re all taken to the large rows of seats spanning the back of the stage area, which is currently concealed from the audience by a curtain. Everybody files along the seats, maintaining alphabetical order, and you sit down, with nothing left to do but wait until the ceremony begins.

With nobody to speak to, as the order that you’re now in has caused you to become surrounded by students that you never really knew very well, you can’t help but sink back into your previous train of thought; it still feels very bizarre, sitting here by yourself. You almost laugh aloud at how silly your brain can be, as you fleetingly picture the curtain opening up to reveal Harry sitting in the audience alongside your mother and Brian, realising that even after everything that’s happened, you’ve felt so sore about the loss of your relationship with him that you probably wouldn’t have minded if he had shown up, assuming he was going to be nice about it. Shaking your head, you know that such a thing would never happen now, and put it out of your mind, repeating to yourself over and over that he’s not relevant anymore, that today is your graduation, and that the two people who probably care most about you in the whole world are now sitting behind that curtain, excited to see you be recognised for your efforts – you don’t need him.

Time seems to tick by so slowly, and your own thoughts running dry, you find yourself looking down at what is occupying your hand, smiling when you realise that you’re twirling the star pendant that Brian bought you between your fingers. Running your thumb over the cool metal, you feel yourself begin to warm up on the inside, glad to have this reminder of Brian’s affection that you can carry everywhere with you. It genuinely means a lot to you that he’s been so supportive, and continues to stand by your side regardless of how much of a mess you feel you’ve been recently, not put off at all by the drama of your home life and how many times you’ve had to confide in him when things have been terrible. For all of Brian’s anxieties and insecurities, he really knows how to be there for you, and he makes it seem almost effortless, as though you’re the most important thing in his world. Clutching the pendant tightly in your hand and closing your eyes, you mentally send out a little thanks to the universe for bringing him into your life.

Suddenly, loud music begins to blare from the speakers, and the whole room sits upright, the anticipation and excitement in the air increased tenfold in seconds, and you watch as the curtain slowly opens to reveal the stage to the audience, who begin to applaud immediately. The professors gather in front of you all, and once the music dies down, the headmaster begins to give the opening speech. You try to spot your mother and Brian from where you’re sitting, but can’t quite manage it, too far away to make anybody out properly. Calming yourself, you sit back in your seat and listen to the headmaster speak.

Before long, the speeches are over, and the graduates are being called forth to accept their scrolls. You watch the physics graduates go first, and as they step forwards and shake their professor’s hand with wide grins, you remind yourself that Brian would have done this not so long ago, on this very stage, and it’s a distinct possibility that sometime soon, you’ll be sitting in the audience watching him do it again for his PhD. Smiling, you already know that you’ll do everything you can to make his day as special as he’s been endeavouring to make yours.

Soon enough, your time comes, and the biology graduates are announced. You stand up alongside everybody in your section, shuffling awkwardly through the rows of seats and towards the middle of the stage, where you all wait to be called forwards. The change of pace causes you to feel a little unsettled, and for the millionth time, your brain flits to Harry, that he should be here, that if he were standing next to you, you’d be squeezing his hand as he smirks boyishly at you, as if to say ‘we made it’. Your hand actually begins to tingle with the absent sensation of his skin against yours, and wanting to hold something else instead, you take Brian’s pendant in your palm one more time; it’s five points press into your warmth tangibly, and as though the material can somehow transmit Brian’s thoughts, you hear his voice in your head instead of Harry’s, soft and comforting as always:

‘Everything will be okay.’ ‘I’m proud of you.’ ‘You mean so much to me.’

A little dizzy, you feel your mood lifting again, leaving your thoughts about Harry behind, and instead, focusing on Brian and the truth he speaks – everything will be okay. As long as you have him, then you can endure anything. Raising your eyes from your feet to the audience, you scan the faces, looking for him now that you’re closer, and after a moment, your chest bursts with relief as you see him; he and your mother are sitting side by side, looking at each other and smiling as they speak, seeming to be sharing their excitement about what’s happening. When they finish whispering, they turn back to face the front, Brian leaning forwards in his chair slightly as though looking for you in return. You almost want to wave madly at him, and containing your slight giddiness, you step forwards as the train of graduates inches closer to the front with each person that takes their turn. You can’t put into words how happy you are that he’s here, and the feeling gives you a desperately needed morale boost as you move forwards again, your time almost here.

Turning your attention back to the people in front of you, you watch as the one at the front of the line steps across the stage, accepting their scroll and shaking the professor’s hand to a burst of applause, and as the one behind them takes their turn too, you realise that you’re next. Feeling somewhat hazy, you hear your name announced, and make your way towards the professor as you’d been instructed to do. As you go, you take one last glance out at the applauding audience, spotting Brian and your mother easily, now that you know where they are. Both of them are clapping with happy expressions, and it gives you one last burst of confidence, your cheeks beginning to burn from both the heat of the room and your smiling. Tearing your eyes from them to concentrate, you face the professor, taking the scroll with your left hand and meeting his handshake with your right, and then exit to the side of the stage behind your fellow graduates who have already had their turns. Everybody seems to be sharing the same elated grin as you, slightly exhilerated by the attention and high energy in the auditorium, and as you all make your way behind the stage, everybody chattering excitedly, you feel yourself breathe a huge sigh of relief – it’s over. You did it by yourself, despite all of the pain and anguish you’ve been feeling. You completed your exams, pushing through so many emotionally draining distractions, passed them well, and earned your masters qualification, and your mother and Brian are here to celebrate it with you.

You’re made to wait behind the stage for what seems like quite a long time while the ceremony continues, but once it finally comes to an end, you’re all free to meet your families back in the entrance hall. Lots of your fellow graduates are meandering slowly, chatting animatedly in groups, but in contrast, you simply can’t wait to get back to Brian. Snaking between the clusters of people and making your way quickly through the corridors, you emerge into the hall, looking fervently for him. As you’re one of the first people to arrive, you’re spotted quite easily by Brian and your mother, who come striding over to you with big smiles on their faces. Realising that you should probably address your mother before Brian, so as not to be rude, you rein in your eagerness and embrace her as she hugs you tightly, almost crushing your rib cage a bit in the process.

“Oh, you were so wonderful up there!” she exclaims, and as she withdraws, you notice that her eye make-up looks slightly dishevelled – she must have been crying during the ceremony. You allow her to fuss over you, knowing that she must be working through a bit of grief as well as being happy for you, due to Harry not being here to congratulate too. Once she composes herself and steps to the side, Brian steps forwards, embracing you tightly, but unlike your mother, he doesn’t have a lot to say.

“Well done,” he murmurs briefly, kissing your cheek, and you get the feeling that he has a lot more that he wants to tell you, but is holding back in order to let your mother take centre stage over him. Appreciating his thoughtfulness, you simply squeeze him back, knowing that there will be a moment for you to talk properly later.

“So,” your mother continues once everybody’s calmed down, “what time is the table at the restaurant booked for? Are we too early to leave now?”

“We are a little early,” Brian replies, checking his watch, “but I’m sure we could get a drink at the bar beforehand, if you like?”

“Good idea,” she says with a smile, seeming excited for the meal. However, before anybody can move, Brian steps back from the pair of you and hesitantly raises a rather bulky-looking camera.

“Shall I take a picture of you both, before you have to take your robes off?” he offers, and perplexed, you eye the machine in his hands, unaware that he’d brought a camera with him – perhaps it had been in his bag earlier.

“Oh, yes please!” your mother answers for the pair of you, and you bunch up together, smiling and posing, while Brian snaps a picture.

“I’ll give you a copy when I get the film developed,” he says, and your mother nods gratefully. Brian then removes his bag from his shoulder and stows the camera away carefully, and as he does so, his back partially turned as he concentrates, your mother glances between you and Brian, raising her eyebrows somewhat cheekily before leaning in to whisper something secretly in your ear.

“He’s tall!” You almost snort with laughter at the sudden observation, although you imagine she might have been thinking it for a while now, having spent more time around him today. She grins widely, and you feel as though you need to physically push your own cheeks back together to stop yourself from doing the same.

“I know!”

__

After saying goodbye to some of your old classmates for the last time, and returning your robe and cap, you’d left Imperial College, your mother driving the three of you to the restaurant, and after lounging in the bar for a short while, you’re finally seated at your table, enjoying your meals. You’d made sure that Brian could sit next to you on your side of the table, in the hopes of abating his nerves a little, and though he’d seemed thankful of it, he still seems a bit anxious. Casting your mind back, you remember how shy he’d been when the two of you had first met, and that it had taken quite a while for him to relax properly around you, so in a way, you’re not surprised. Besides, meeting your partner’s parents for the first time is always awkward, so you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“So,” your mother pipes up cheerfully, “I hear you’re also at Imperial College, Brian. What is it that you do?” Brian swallows his mouthful of food awkwardly at this sudden interview.

“Physics,” he mumbles, “but I’ve been working on a thesis for my PhD for some time. It’s one of those things that can take quite a while to pull together.”

“I should imagine,” she replies, seeming quite impressed. “A PhD! I bet your parents are thrilled.” You almost roll your eyes at your mother’s incessant obsession with academia, especially because you know all too well that Brian has been feeling the pressure to succeed, coupled with the wish to perform music instead, just as much as you have. However, if Brian is bothered by the thought, he doesn’t show it, simply nodding in agreement with a timid smile.

“And how is everything at the flat?” your mother questions, her face betraying just an ounce of tension, as though she still worries about you.

“It’s great,” you jump in, wanting to put her mind at ease. “Brian and Roger are really good company, and I can concentrate on things there.” You rub Brian’s arm affectionately, and seeming to be bolstered by it, he looks up from his food again with a toothy smile.

“We love having her around,” he chips in earnestly, “and now that I’ve finished helping her with her studying, perhaps she can help me with mine!” You giggle at the suggestion, batting his arm gently.

“Not a chance! I’m not as smart as you, Brian, and you know it!” As the pair of you chuckle quietly, your mother smiles, seeming to be contemplating something.

“Oh, of course,” she emits after a moment, “you need to thank Roger for all his hard work in tutoring you, as well as Brian.” Both you and Brian become so intensely and immediately amused that you can’t look at each other for fear of breaking down and giving the truth away, so you settle for taking large bites of food while you nod in mock enthusiasm, trying to hide your grin. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice anything unusual, returning to her own meal, which gives the pair of you a moment to calm down.

Once your heart rate is back to normal, and you can raise your head without snorting peas out of your nose in laughter, you take another glance at your mother, and though she’s still eating, she appears to be turning something over in her mind. You watch as she eyes the pair of you with intrigue, apparently rather interested, and when she notices you looking, she smiles and leans back in her chair.

“How did you two meet, then?” she asks, catching you somewhat off guard.

“Harry and I were playing a gig with the band, right at the start of the year,” you inform, remembering that you hadn’t really told her anything about how you’d gotten to know Brian or the rest of the Queen boys.

“She was brilliant as well,” Brian chimes in, to your surprise, gazing at you with a fond smile, and you can’t help but return it, seeing how genuine he’s being, despite still being quite nervous under the scrutiny of your mother.

“Not at brilliant as you,” you reply with a laugh, nudging him, and in contrast to his anxious demeanour, he reaches across to you, taking your hand gently. You’re both shocked and impressed, loving that he’s brave enough to hold your hand in front of your mother like this, knowing what he’s like. Glancing back at your mother, you see that she’s eyeing your joined hands, but instead of looking sceptical or disapproving, she actually seems quite relaxed.

“You’re not like the usual musician types, are you, Brian?” The question comes as a surprise, and Brian looks a little bemused before he answers.

“How so?”

“Well, I think we all know about that,” she continues, a disdainful look growing on her face. “My other child is Harry, remember.” You exhale a laugh at the comment, but at the same time, feel a little guilty, hoping that your mother isn’t upset. However, she seems to have calmed down since the ceremony ended, able to actually make a joke about Harry without getting too down about it. Brian chuckles somewhat awkwardly in a similar fashion to you, but nods in understanding.

“Yes, well. I suppose you have a point.”

“No, you have much better manners.” You suppress a smirk at the cringe-worthy compliment, and though Brian laughs again, he seems to appreciate it nonetheless.

Over dessert, your mother continues to quiz Brian, much to your alarm, as you really don’t want him to be put off by her perpetual probing. However, he handles it quite gracefully, especially when she asks him about his studies, as once he begins to recount his love of the stars and his passion for astrophysics, he relaxes as he speaks, clearly in his element. You find yourself happy to grow quiet and watch them chat, enjoying how much Brian’s nerves are uncoiling, and as always, you love to hear him talk with such fervour about the night sky. After a while, your mother excuses herself to the ladies’ room, and once she’s gone, you take Brian’s hand, squeezing encouragingly.

“I think she likes you,” you say honestly, grinning as he shakes his head, clearly unsure about it. “You do have lovely manners.” The pair of you giggle at your reference to her earlier comment, and then Brian reaches towards your lap, taking your other hand in his.

“I know we haven’t had much time to talk-“ he begins, but you don’t want him to apologise for something out of his control.

“We can talk plenty when we get home,” you say, and he nods, but continues regardless.

“Still, I just – I’m proud of you.” He meets your eyes, searching them deeply, a multitude of thoughts seemingly swimming through his mind. “Today might have been strange for you, but you did really well. You didn’t get upset at any point, did you? If I could have been with you all day-“

“No,” you interrupt, wanting to ease his worries. “I was okay. I did have a slight moment, but…” As you recall the memory, your eyes catch the light glinting off the pendant around your neck, and a smile instantly works it’s way onto your face. “This reminded me that you were there,” you continue, prising one of your hands away to hold the pendant up to him. “I’m really glad you came. I missed Harry at the start, but…” You hold the pendant to your chest, as if to push the pleasant feeling it brought you back into your heart. “…not by the end.” Something shifts in Brian’s expression, his full attention on you.

“Ah, I’m glad, I just want-“ It happens again; his eyes drift downwards, breaking the gaze you’d been sharing to rest on your mouth, revealing his unspoken desires entirely, and you find your lips beginning to burn with anticipation, loving how he seems to be almost unable to help himself. He begins to lean toward you ever so slightly, but then catches himself, evidently feeling self-conscious of where you are, coupled with the fact that your mother will probably return to the table at any moment. The two of you simply stare at each other, drowning in your sudden combined need to kiss each other, touch each other, and talk about how deeply you appreciate each other, until you break the spell somewhat by rejoining your free hand with his.

“When we get home,” you say, and he nods, understanding. As you both sit there, slowly regaining your patience, you find yourself so incredibly happy to be with him, that he’s made sure to be here for you on what could have been a rather upsetting occasion, and for the first time all day, you don’t care about whatever Harry might be doing – you’re with Brian, and that’s the most important thing to you now.


	31. All You People, Keep Yourself Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waiting impatiently, it's finally July 6th, the day Queen's single, 'Keep Yourself Alive' is released! You can't wait to hear it, and what's more, the album is around the corner too! It's just too exciting to bear!

“It’s time!” The words break the quiet atmosphere of the flat with their rousing tone, and you and Brian immediately look at each other with knowing grins; it’s the 6th of July, a day that has been marked on your mental calendar for roughly two weeks, for the incredibly thrilling reason that Queen’s debut single, ‘Keep Yourself Alive’, will finally be released. As you and Brian scramble to get to your feet and head downstairs, you feel a strong ripple of anticipation in your stomach with the knowledge that all of their hard work is beginning to pay off after such a long haul, their talents now able to be broadcast to the world.

As you round the corner after descending the stairs, you’re met with smiles by Roger, John, and a rather exuberant looking Freddie; despite the fact that the Queen boys must have heard their own song a million and one times while recording it in the studio, Freddie had insisted that he bring a copy of the single over today, having managed to snag one for himself. Just taking a single look at him is enough to see how proud and excited he is, despite his efforts to maintain a composed exterior, and you imagine that Roger, Brian and John are probably feeling the same way.

“Right,” Freddie emits sharply, “now that you’re all here, somebody make me a cup of tea, why don’t you?” Every face in the room displays a disdainful yet amused smirk at his classic antics, and after a few eye rolls from everybody, John volunteers to make drinks, heading into the kitchen. Freddie eyes everybody with a look that betrays the fact that he knows exactly what a diva he’s being.

“Well,” he says with an exaggerated shrug, “I am a real rock star now!” He brandishes the record he’d had tucked under his arm, and your excitement surges again as you look at it, the sense of occasion returning. You reach out towards it tentatively, and Freddie smiles, allowing you to take hold of the record and examine it; though only a regular 7” disc in a plain sleeve, the sight of it causes your stomach to clench in eagerness, especially as your eyes fall upon the band logo, which as of yet is simply the word ‘Queen’ with a crowned ‘Q’, similar to that which appeared in Freddie’s drawing, which you imagine might make an appearance in later artwork. Something else catches your eye too, heightening your pride – Brian’s surname credited underneath the title of the track, and again on the opposite side under the lettering of the b-side, ‘Son And Daughter’. A sizeable rush of affection warms you tangibly as you remember once again how proud you are of him, as well as the others.

“I think we’ve run out of Earl Grey,” Roger’s voice informs loudly as he shouts to Freddie from the kitchen, bringing you back into the present moment again.

“You’d better not!” Freddie retorts. “I won’t be denied my favourite tea!”

“We must have some,” you chime in, handing the record back to Freddie to join John and Roger in the kitchen. Once the tea is found and everyone is adequately watered, the attention of the room turns eagerly back to the matter at hand – the single.

“I know you’ll be just dying to hear it, darling,” Freddie says to you, beaming, “so I thought we could all get together and put it on as a sort of celebration - and then we never have to listen to it again!”

“Thank god!” John quips with a grin, and everybody chuckles in unison, the boys evidently thoroughly fed up of their music having been bounced around in the studio for years, unable to be heard by anybody except themselves – it must be a relief to be able to get it out after such a long wait.

“Right, come on, then,” Freddie says, sauntering over to the record player to put it on. As you watch him with bated breath, you feel an arm come around your shoulders, and look to see that Brian has moved to be by your side. You share a smile with him, sinking into his warmth and feeling glad to be here to celebrate Queen’s success with them, even if all you’re doing is listening to a song you already know in the lounge of Sinclair Road. As the static sound of the needle on the record’s surface penetrates the air, everybody grows silent in anticipation, the room possibly more quiet than it’s ever been with this many people in it. Then, after a moment, the glorious sound of music hits the air.

You’ve heard Queen play ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ several times live, as it seems to be one of their staple songs and fan favourites, so as soon as the chugging introductory riff comes in, you recognise it straight away. It already feels so exciting to hear, and when the whole band kicks in, followed by Freddie’s distinctive vocals, your mind becomes filled with memories of Queen’s live shows, performing the song on stage. Hearing it on record like this is almost odd in comparison to how you’re used to experiencing it, but in an interesting way; without the roar and buzz of a crowd overlaying everything, every note and nuance is audible, making it feel more special and drawing your attention to all of the carefully-placed details.

You look up with a smile as Freddie makes his way back to where he’d been standing before, and the five of you form something of a semi-circle as you gather in front of the speakers, listening intently. The song continues energetically, featuring Roger’s signature drum solo, and Brian’s hot on the heels of it, although much more layered than the live version, the studio’s technology allowing him to harmonise with his own guitar several times, as you’d had a sneak peek of when you’d gone to watch him finish recording ‘Procession’. The break happens next, featuring Roger’s only line in the song – “do you think you’re better every day?”. When it appears, everyone turns to look at him, to which he grins and cocks an eyebrow. They all then fix their gazes on Brian, and he averts his eyes slightly and grins with a little shyness. Before you can question this, the next line comes in – “no, I just think I’m two steps nearer to my grave” – and surprises you with a voice you hadn’t expected.

“Was that you?” you ask Brian, and he nods bashfully, the boys giggling at him. Freddie has always sung that line in the past, so the switch to Brian for the recording had caught you thoroughly off guard, though a lovely surprise. Returning your attention to the track and feeling a little guilty for momentarily talking over it, you listen as the final chorus goes through it’s numerous key changes, as you know well, before fading out gently, seeming to be over too soon, despite being pretty much exactly the same structure as their live version. For a second, your lips refuse to move due to all the excitement, but after a moment, you manage to blurt something out.

“That was brilliant!” you exude happily, and everyone breaks into grins, seeming glad that you approve.

“It’s alright,” Roger replies unenthusiastically, though quickly smirks to prove that he’s only joking.

“How do you think it came out?” Brian asks with interest, seeming to have something on his mind.

“I loved it,” you reply honestly. “It’s nice to be able to hear everything properly, and of course, all those extra guitar lines were great. You can’t do that live.” The other boys nod and agree, and Brian seems satisfied with your answer.

“Okay. There were little bits here and there I wasn’t sure about, but as long as you think it’s alright.” A laugh escapes you at his perfectionism, though having witnessed him at work in the studio completing ‘Procession’, it doesn’t surprise you that he pores over the details, wanting everything to be just right.

“Go on, then,” you call to John, who’s standing closest to the record player. “Flip it over!” John complies with a smile, turning the record over to the other side, and the five of you repeat your little listening party with ‘Son And Daughter’. The experience is just as exciting as the first had been, and the already tantalising riffs and rhythms of the song only seem to have been enhanced on the record, gaining a somewhat raunchy vibe. You almost laugh aloud when you hear Freddie singing a line slightly differently than you’re used to, exclaiming that “the world expects a man to buckle down and to shovel shit” – he usually leaves the last word out on stage. You shoot him a look, and he giggles. It’s a pretty bold move to swear like that on a single, even if it is the b-side, but a part of you strongly approves, enjoying how Queen seem to have been doing things their way during recording.

You continue to enjoy the song’s heaviness, the rest of it playing out as you’d expected, until a slightly different ending takes you by surprise; during the live shows, Brian tends to have a rather elongated solo, after which, they bring back a verse, and then the song closes with a foot-stompingly heavy ending. However, this version tails off during the interlude just before the solo would normally come in, and though you’re disappointed at first, you imagine that keeping the song as long as it is live might not come across as well on record. John seems to read your thoughts through your expression, and pipes up.

“We thought we’d keep it shorter on the record,” he confirms, “and that way, it also keeps the live version somewhat special, with the solo and all that.”

“Yes,” Freddie agrees with a nod, “it’d be pointless to play the songs exactly the same live as on the record. People might as well stay home and listen to it instead of coming to see us if we did!” Everyone laughs, and you find yourself agreeing with their decision to give certain songs distinguishing features in one incarnation that don’t appear in the other – it will make each version of the songs even more exciting.

“Well,” Freddie says, tossing his hands into the air, “that’s that. What do you think? Are we going to become millionaires once this gets on the radio?”

“I think people are going to love it, Fred!” you reply veraciously with a grin, before turning to glance at everybody in turn. “Honestly, I’m really proud of you all. It’s fantastic!” You give each of the boys a congratulatory hug, so pleased that the ball has finally got rolling for them. “I’m going to be buying myself one as soon as I can,” you add, and Freddie waves a hand dismissively at the words.

“No, no, dear, we can get you a copy. Don’t worry about that.”

“No,” you refute, “I want to! You’ve all worked so hard and then waited for so long for this to come out – I want to show you some proper support!” Freddie goes to argue, but relents, reluctantly accepting your insistence.

“Oh, alright,” he grumbles, striding over to you and pulling you to his side, jostling you around slightly in jest. “And what do you mean, proper support?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Roger says, continuing Freddie’s point. “You’ve been supporting us plenty! We’ve hardly had a gig this year that you haven’t been front row to!” A collective laugh hits the air warmly, and you can’t help but smile and concede that that much is true; ever since you’d gotten to know Queen and properly discovered their music, even before you and Brian had become a couple, you’d followed their live shows attentively and been sure to tell them exactly how much you value their talents, which is more than you can adequately express. Knowing that you’d only do such a thing in genuine honesty, you feel another rush of glee that this single and album release is happening for them, and that they appreciate your support as a genuine Queen devotee, as well as a friend.

“Well,” Brian chimes in cheerfully, “next week, it’ll be the album!” Smiles grow upon everybody’s faces instantly at the reminder, causing excitement to linger in the air, despite your current single premiere being over. Studying the expressions of the boys, you realise that they must be feeling more proud about themselves than they’re letting on, as none of them seem to want to carry on with their daily activities, loitering in the room and chatting animatedly about the album release. Enjoying their enthusiasm and camaraderie, you lean into Brian contentedly and watch their conversations, feeling lucky to be going through all of this with them.

__

Stifling a yawn, you lean back against the pillows and snuggle down into the bed; the last week has been relatively uneventful, which has only increased everybody’s impatience and excitement for Queen’s album release, looming ever closer on the horizon. It seems to have taken an age to get here, but finally, the night before the release is upon you, and you couldn’t be more thrilled for the boys. Looking up at Brian, who’s perched on the bed next to you, you’re getting the feeling that he’s a little restless; fiddling distractedly with a pencil in his hands, he’s only managed to get half undressed before apparently losing focus.

“Are you alright?” you ask, reaching out a hand to rub his back, and he peers over his shoulder at you, discarding the pencil and relaxing a little.

“Yeah, I’m just thinking a lot about the album.”

“Is there something bothering you about it?” He takes a moment to contemplate whatever is on his mind before answering.

“Not necessarily. There are just some things that I feel could have been done a bit better, but after a certain point, we just had to make do with the time that we’d had. It was difficult, trying to get into the studio at all the odd hours of the day, when signed acts weren’t using it.”

“Well,” you reply happily, “you’re not going to have that problem anymore, are you?” He exhales a laugh at the remark, nodding at the fact that now that they have EMI on their side, anything that they record from now on will be given the same priority as the other acts that use Trident.

“That certainly will be nice,” he muses, “although Roger won’t be best pleased when he finds out that he won’t be seeing any more half naked women!”

“What?” His comment caught you so far off guard that your brain almost stops working for a second, wondering what on earth he’s talking about.

“Did nobody mention it?” Brian asks with a grin, and you shake your head, incredibly nonplussed. “Most of the time, we had to record during the early hours of the morning,” he continues, “and when you’re in a certain room, you can see into the windows of the building opposite.” You can already tell where this is going. “At that time of night, well… there were a lot of, erm, ‘working girls’, I suppose I should say.” You can’t help but snort in laughter, at both the vision of the sexy show through Trident’s window, and Brian’s increasing embarrassment. “Everyone had a good look at that.”

“I bet they did!” you guffaw, thoroughly amused. “Did you enjoy the show, too?” You’d said it in a purposeful attempt to fluster Brian, knowing what he’s like, and it seems to have worked, as you watch him start to blush.

“I – no, not really,” he stammers, looking at you almost apologetically, which makes you bark with laughter even more, because it makes it seem as though that’s exactly what he’d been doing. It’s not something you’d get upset about, considering it had all happened before you’d met him. Brian shifts uncomfortably on the bed, apparently trying to choose his words carefully. “I wasn’t really looking, not like Roger was, but well – I did see them, yes.” His awkwardness proves way too funny for you, and you slide down underneath the covers as you giggle, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

“Relax,” you tell him through a grin, “I’m well aware that boys will be boys! I’m not about to punish you for having a wandering eye before you even met me.” Brian exhales in what seems like a bit of relief, breaking into a grin himself and calming down again, now that the embarrassing subject has been dropped. “Come to bed,” you instruct gently, wanting him to properly unwind and put his worries about the quality of the album behind him as much as he can.

He complies, letting go of your hand to unbutton his shirt, before pulling it up over his head. You watch as his mass of hair gets momentarily lifted up by the shirt, exposing the nape of his neck, which you never tend to see. His shoulders, broad yet bony, look somewhat delicate in their paleness. When he turns around to climb into bed, your eyes follow his body, enjoying the lines of his pronounced collarbones and slim figure, and feeling lucky to be able to say that this is your boyfriend. Once he joins you at your side properly, you inch closer to him, sharing a smile and leaning into his shoulder.

“Are you all ready for tomorrow night, then?” you ask. The boys have a gig in Basingstoke, about an hour’s drive from Kensington, and while a Queen gig is always a special occasion, there is the slightly disappointing fact that it’s not an official album launch gig; having scheduled that months ago, despite the album not being ready, EMI decided not to put a lot of emphasis on this show, even though it would be the perfect vehicle for album promotion, considering it’s on the same day as the release. The boys had been a little indignant about it, but hadn’t pressed the matter much, seeming to accept the idea that EMI have their own ways of doing things, and that’s that.

“Should be,” Brian replies, pulling you closer to him and kissing your forehead. “I think we’re going to have a short rehearsal before we leave for the show, but I’m not sure. We’ll see what Freddie says.” He smiles in amusement, and you return it, knowing that whatever side of the bed Freddie wakes up on tends to have an effect on proceedings.

“Well, Mary and I will be there,” you add, reminding him of the promise that the two of you had made the boys earlier in the week; Mary hasn’t been to quite as many Queen gigs as you have recently, but as you’d learned, she’d recently been promoted to one of the managers at the Biba boutique, which is wonderful news, but of course, makes her work schedule a little tighter than it used to be. Thankfully, she’d made sure to have time to come to this show with you, to mark the important occasion of the album release.

“I’m glad,” Brian murmurs, squeezing you tightly. You’re just about to suggest that the two of you lay down and turn the lamp out, when Brian jolts slightly, seeming to have suddenly remembered something. “Oh, I know what I meant to show you,” he emits, retrieving his arm from around you and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, getting up again. You huff slightly in both amusement and disdain at his apparent inability to relax, but decide to say nothing and let him continue. He returns to bed a minute later, having taken a white envelope out of a drawer.

“Do you remember me taking pictures at your graduation?” You nod eagerly, leaning forward to watch as he flicks through what you now realise is a stack of photographs. “I got my film developed. It had quite a bit left on it, so I took some pictures at the practise we had the other day, too.” Having located the ones he was looking for, he hands them to you, and you smile as you admire each one; he’s not too shabby when it comes to photography, the pictures nicely framed and sharp in focus. You remember posing for the one of yourself and your mother side by side, and enjoy perusing the group of pictures he took of the ceremony itself. However, you find yourself pausing to look more properly at a photo that contains just you, looking to have been taken just after you’d finished shaking the professor’s hand; a big smile graces your face, embellished by the spotlight you’re standing in, and despite the difficulties you’d faced that day, this snapshot has managed to capture nothing but happiness. Thinking back to how you’d been focusing on Brian during those moments, you’re not surprised.

“This is a great one,” you tell him, showing him the photo, and a warm smile glows on his face.

“It is,” he replies softly, “I want to keep that one. You look lovely in it.” The two of you meet eyes for a moment, unspoken yet strong affection blooming between you, and then he leans across the bed, brushing his nose against yours lightly as he kisses you. You often have moments like this, where the both of you grow silent, choosing a kiss over words to express your feelings for each other, and it's always so sweet that you find it blissfully dizzying every time. Parting with bashful smiles, you settle down again, Brian glancing back at the photograph in your hand.

“Would you like to relive it?”

“Huh?” You watch as he unfolds his large frame once again, striding over to the same drawer he’d gotten the photos from and procuring something else from it. It looks a bit like a rather large pair of glasses, crossed with some sort of box, and after sifting through the photos again, Brian picks out another one and begins slotting it into the device.

“Have you ever seen stereo photography?” You shake your head, his question not ringing any bells. “I’ve liked it since I was quite young. You get two pictures that have been taken of the same subject, but slightly offset from each other, and put them in a viewer, like this.” He nods at the bizarre contraption in his hands, taking the photo from you and putting it into the other side. “It mimics what each eye sees separately, and when it’s put together in here, it looks 3D.”

“Really?” You edge closer to him, intrigued to see this futuristic effect, and he hands you the viewer, standing up to cross the room and turn on the main light.

“You’ll see it better this way,” he says, making his way back over to you. “Go on, have a look.” You lift the viewer up to your face, putting it on like the bulky pair of glasses it resembles, and as you do, your vision is filled with something quite unusual; your own face appears in three perfect dimensions in front of you, crystal clear and so realistic, you feel as though you could reach out and touch yourself. Not only that, but the details of the room behind you in the picture also look genuine and in perspective, showcasing the depth of the venue, despite the fact that you’re looking at two flat pieces of paper.

“Brian, this is so cool!” you exude, removing the viewer from your face. “I had no idea you could do this.”

“It’s really interesting, isn’t it?” he replies, smiling and taking it from you to have a look himself. “The camera I have is a stereo camera, so it can take the two offset images you need to do this with. I like being able to see memories like this, as though you could jump back into them.” Despite the fact that you can’t see his expression properly, due to the viewer obscuring a considerable amount of his face, you can tell that Brian has become impassioned by this subject, speaking about it almost as fondly as he does about astrophysics. You love getting new glimpses into his interests like this, making him even more endearing in your eyes. Choosing to ignore how late it is, you listen as he continues to chatter about stereo photography tirelessly, smiling at his enthusiasm, and liking him more with every moment.


	32. Here's To The Future, For The Dreams Of Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After enjoying a sweet night with Brian, you've woken up early, remembering that the moment has finally come - Queen's album is out right now! Sneaking out of bed, you decide to get up to a little mischief in order to get your hands on it before anybody else does.

You and Brian had stayed up later into the night than you’d expected to, but when it comes to hearing Brian waxing lyrical about the things he enjoys, as well as stealing more kisses and intimate moments, you could probably go for days without sleep. As you feel your consciousness begin to return to you hazily, you open your eyes slowly, peeking over Brian’s sleeping form to check the time.

It’s a little early, but as yesterday’s conversations flood back into your mind, you sit up, resolving to sneak out on something of a secret mission; last week, Freddie had offered you a free copy of ‘Keep Yourself Alive’, which you’d refused, as you genuinely do want to pay for their music – it’s the least they deserve. Considering that today, Queen will be too busy preparing for their Basingstoke show to do another listening party for the album, you’ve had the cheeky idea to head out to the high street and buy yourself a copy before they bring it up. You’re not about to continue freeloading off them, considering the amount of times they’ve brought you into a Queen gig as part of their entourage, allowing you to dodge the admission fee – this time, you’ll show them your appreciation with your money as well as your praise.

__

It’s not here. You’ve looked up and down this rack multiple times, but there’s no Queen section anywhere. Changing tactics, you head towards the front of the shop, where new releases are often displayed on a separate rack, but to no avail – this place doesn’t seem to have Queen’s album at all. Sighing heavily, your shoulders slumping, you realise that you hadn’t factored this eventuality into the equation; considering Queen are a new signing by EMI, a very well respected record label, you’d automatically expected at least a few copies of the album to be in the shops, even if it was only a small amount. However, it looks as though that’s not the case. Not wanting to be defeated, you mentally remind yourself of the location of another record shop not terribly far away, and turn on your heel to exit the building, heading for it.

Earlier this morning, you’d managed to crawl out of bed, get dressed and leave the flat without waking Brian up, leaving him a note to tell him that you’d be back not too much later. As you stride quickly through the sunny streets, you picture his sleepy expression as he reads the note, a smile working it’s way onto your face. As you approach the second record shop, you find yourself sincerely hoping that you’ll be in luck this time – you really want to support Queen, and on top of that, you can’t wait to hear the full album in all it’s glory. Stepping inside, you first check the racks for it, as you had in the previous shop, but again, come up short. Realising that you’re probably going to have to dig a bit deeper, you approach the counter and get the attention of the staff member standing behind it.

“Excuse me,” you enquire, “do you have the new album by Queen? It just came out today.”

“Queen?” the man repeats, furrowing his brow in thought for a second, before shaking his head roughly. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“They’re signed to EMI,” you continue, feeling put off by his somewhat blunt delivery. “I thought you might have got some copies, considering today’s the release date.”

“Nope, sorry,” he replies with a shrug. “We don’t have anything like that, and if it’s by a smaller band, then I’m not sure we’ll be getting any in.” You want to push your point, hoping that he might order some copies for the shop if it seems as though they’ll sell, but looking at the man’s unyielding expression, you get the feeling that it won’t work.

“Alright,” you reply somewhat defeatedly, “thanks anyway.” It’s not until you get back out into the open air of the street that you feel yourself sag under the weight of your disappointment at coming away empty-handed twice in a row; you understand that Queen aren’t exactly world famous, and therefore lining the cabinets of every shop in London, but their album flying so apparently far under the radar feels like a bit of an insult. You simply can’t accept the situation, and racking your brains again, come up with another idea. There is one last record shop that you can think of to try, and if they don’t already have the album, then there might be something you can do to coerce them to get it.

It takes you a minute to find a phone box, shutting yourself in and rooting around in your purse for some change, but once you’ve racked up some credit, you dial the number of the third record shop. As the phone rings, you cross your fingers and pray that someone nice answers the phone. After a moment, a man’s voice sounds in your ear, with a professional greeting.

“Hello, I’m just calling to ask if you’ve got a certain record in stock. It’s by a band called Queen, and it’s just come out today.”

“If you’ll just hold on for a moment,” the voice replies, “I’ll check our stock list and get right back to you.”

“Alright, thank you.” You shift your weight from foot to foot impatiently, and after what seems like much longer than it probably was, the man picks the phone back up.

“I’m afraid we don’t have that record,” he informs apologetically, and though your heart sinks a little further, you have to admit that you’d expected as much.

“That’s a shame,” you reply. “I’d been looking forward to buying a copy. They are quite a small band, but they were recently signed to EMI, and us fans have been really excited about the album release.” You’re aware that you’re probably talking too much, but a part of you really wants to see if you can convince this man to order the record to his shop.

“They’re signed to EMI, you say?” he asks, sounding somewhat intrigued.

“Yes,” you reply enthusiastically, “they’re a wonderful band. I’m absolutely sure the album would sell if you had it in stock. They have quite a strong fan base.” Biting your lip and hoping you haven’t been too forward, you wait anxiously for his reply. However, it’s more optimistic than you’d expected.

“Sounds quite interesting,” he muses, evidently turning the matter over in his mind. “I tell you what – I’ll contact our supplier and enquire about the record. If it sounds like something that we think will sell, we might order some copies in.” You have to fight to keep your breath from audibly catching in your throat at this potentially good news. “Queen, was it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” you reply quickly. “The album is of the same name.” The boys hadn’t been sure what to name it at first, bouncing between several titles, including the joke offering of their producer’s trademark catchphrase ‘Deary Me’. Smothering a chuckle as it crosses your mind, you find yourself thinking that it’s a good job they decided to just name it after the band in the end.

“Alright,” the man says, rousing you back to the moment. “Our delivery will come in a little later, so if you could check with me again then, I’ll let you know if we’ve got the record.”

“Thank you ever so much,” you reply genuinely, excitement beginning to rise within you. “I’ll be in touch.” When you hang up the receiver, you have to try to rein in your anticipation – he’d only promised to enquire, not necessarily to definitely order it. However, this is a step forward, so there’s still hope. Exiting the phone box, you figure you might as well go and find a nice café to kill some time in while you wait for the shop to get it’s delivery, so you set off to do just that.

After spending longer than you’d hoped for lounging in the café and treating yourself to a cool drink to combat the Summer heat, you pick up your bag and head out to the record shop, hoping desperately that you’ve given it enough time. You also feel somewhat guilty for not having gone home yet, as Brian will certainly be wondering what you’re up to. A little twinge of joy does fizzle in your chest, though, as you realise that you really are starting to refer to Sinclair Road as ‘home’ now, having evidently begun to adjust to the new situation after leaving your mother’s house. Smiling, you duck into the doorway of the record shop and head straight up to the counter, begging the powers that be to let your third attempt be successful.

“Hello,” you greet the man at the counter, “I called earlier to ask about the record by Queen.”

“Ah, yes,” he replies with a smile, his voice familiar from your earlier conversation. “The delivery just came in! If you’ll just wait there a moment, I’ll get it for you.” You’re so ecstatic at the news that he actually ordered the album that you almost jump for joy right there in front of him, but manage to control yourself as he turns and heads into the back room of the shop to retrieve it. When he returns, holding up a record emblazoned with purple and blue shades, you know instantly that it’s the correct one, as you recognise the artistically rendered form of Freddie on it’s front. The sight is enough to make your eyes pop. You pay for the record and thank the man profusely for entertaining your request, practically racing back out of the shop to catch the bus back home – you’ve never been so excited to listen to a record in all your life!

__

“Where’ve you been?” Roger quizzes the second you walk through the door at Sinclair Road, glancing up at you from the bag he seems to be currently packing.

“I’ve just been on a top secret mission,” you gloat dramatically in a manner that Freddie would be proud of, “to find this little number!” You whip the record out of it’s bag, thrusting it towards Roger, who instantly laughs and takes it from you, looking over it’s front and back cover before returning it to you.

“You know you didn’t have to go and buy one,” he starts, but you shake your head, not wanting to go down that road again.

“I did,” you insist, “although it was an adventure, I’ll tell you that. Nowhere had it at all.”

“How did you get it, then?” he asks, stooping down to zip up his bag.

“I think I turned into Freddie for a moment,” you scoff as you recall how boldly you’d actually acted, now that you think about it. “I rang up a record shop and pretty much coerced the owner into ordering it in! I can’t believe he actually did it!”

“You did what?” Roger breaks into a grin, appearing partially surprised and impressed in almost equal measure.

“I know,” you giggle, “I don’t know what came over me! The first two shops didn’t have it, and I just couldn’t leave knowing that you weren’t out there for people to buy!”

“Well, we are now,” he replies, drawing close and pulling you into a tight hug, “thanks to you.” The two of you chuckle as you withdraw, and as Roger turns back to his packing, Brian enters the room, seeming immediately relieved to see you.

“I promise you, I’ve been gone for a good reason,” you tell him, holding up the record, and all concern falls from his face as he looks at it, replaced by both approval and disbelief.

“Where did you get that?”

“She forced some poor bloke to order it for her!” Roger chimes in before you can reply, and the pair of you giggle as you recount the morning’s events to him.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Brian says after you’re all finished laughing, closing the gap between you to hold you close.

“I know I didn’t,” you reply happily, leaning into him. “I just couldn’t come to the show tonight without having heard it first. It’ll make it even more exciting – and I can go around telling everyone in the crowd just how amazing it is, and then they’ll all want to go and buy it themselves!” Brian’s quiet chuckle buzzes in his chest against your ear.

“How do you know it’s amazing?” Roger quips with a grin. “You haven’t listened to it yet!”

“Well, that’s exactly what I’m about to do!” you shout gaily, reminded of your desperate need to hear what Queen have been waiting so long to finally release. Prising yourself from Brian’s arms, you trot over to the record player, sitting down on the sofa.

“We might be gone before you finish,” Brian calls after you. “We are having a rehearsal before the show after all, and we’ll have to get to Basingstoke somewhat early for the sound check.”

“Don’t worry,” you reply with a smile, “I’m sure I’ll be able to tear myself away long enough to kiss you goodbye.” The two of you share an affectionate gaze, which is then humorously ruined by Roger exclaiming “yuck!” at your lovey-dovey ways, and you turn your attention back to your new prize possession. Taking a moment to look at the cover properly, you see that the image of Freddie, arms raised and microphone held high, has been drawn and bathed in the purple and blue tones of the light shining down above him.

“Who did this front cover?” you shout, knowing that one of the boys will answer.

“It was Doug Puddifoot,” Roger replies after a moment, “the guy that did our photo shoot at Fred and Mary’s place. It’s actually based on a photo taken late last year – December, I think.” Casting your gaze back to the image, you find it rather exciting to think that, if Roger’s memory serves him correct, the picture this drawing is based off was taken probably less than a month before you met Queen for the first time. The word ‘Queen’ with the crowned ‘Q’ features again, as it had on the single, but this time, in much bigger lettering, loud and clear, in an eye-catching fuchsia colour.

Flipping the record over, you’re treated to a collage of photos, mostly from the aforementioned photo shoot, although some are also from live performances. You enjoy the sight of the four of them glammed up and posing around a chair draped in red velvet, various props and decorations behind them, and find yourself wide-eyed when you notice a photo of Brian with a full beard, something you’ve never witnessed before. Slack-jawed with surprise, you look up to call out to him, but then realise that he and Roger probably need to be left to their packing, as they’ll be heading out to the rehearsal soon. Saving that line of questioning for later, you slide the record out of it’s sleeve and place it gingerly on the turntable, as if it were a priceless artefact. After making sure the speakers are on, you set the record spinning and sit back in your seat, although the excitement of it all causes you to almost instantly hunch forward again, staring expectantly at the revolving label.

For a moment, you find yourself feeling as though you’ve forgotten something, but as you search your mind for what it could be, you realise that it’s not a physical possession you’re missing, but a person; you and Harry had talked about this moment for a while, both eager to get your hands on Queen’s first record when it finally came out, and the pair of you had promised to listen to it together the first time, something you’d often done whenever one of you had brought a new record home. The memory of the conversation causes a brief pang of sadness to resound in your chest, feeling almost guilty that you’re about to listen to it without him, and disappointed when you remind yourself that there’s no chance of the two of you reconciling in order to do such a thing anymore. The thought dampens your mood for just a moment, but looking up and watching Roger and Brian get their things together for their rehearsal, and seeing their relaxed, contented faces as they chat, you’re reminded of how lucky you are; in the wake of Harry’s unforgivable betrayal of your friendship, you still have a devoted and deeply caring boyfriend, as well as many genuine friends who are here for you no matter what happens, and the knowledge of that chases your sorrow away, just in time for the music to hit the air, pulling you unavoidably back into the moment.

When ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ kicks in, you feel yourself grin, already knowing how well the song sounds on record, and enjoy it all over again. You decide not to look at the track list in advance, wanting to keep the experience brand new, so casting the record sleeve aside, you settle in for whatever ride awaits you. Up next, to your absolute joy, is ‘Doin’ All Right’, which has translated to record wonderfully, showing off real contrasts between the light and heavy parts. After this is ‘Great King Rat’, a song you’ve only heard a couple of times, and now that you can fully appreciate it’s galloping rhythm, strong lyrics and different guitar tones, it’s really beginning to grow on you. The fourth track is ‘My Fairy King’, something you’ve only known Queen to play live once before. You’d heard from the boys that this was one of the last songs to be written, coming to fruition in the studio as opposed to during rehearsals, and in a way, you can tell the difference; it’s layers of vocals, guitars and well crafted piano parts, the latter played by Freddie, really enhance the fantastical world described in the lyrics.

Once this expressive piece is over, you get up to flip the record over to the other side, and are then treated to a song you know very well – Liar. It packs a great punch on record, and features an organ during the introduction, which is a nice addition. The energy continues to build throughout the song, just as it does live, and by the time the “all day long” section comes in, you’re tapping your foot enthusiastically. John’s bass solo is also perfectly audible, and you’re thrilled to be able to hear it blasting away – you’ve always loved it. When the song comes to it’s jubilant ending, the tone then completely shifts, as the album moves into ‘The Night Comes Down’. You’ve heard this once or twice before, but you don’t remember it being quite as great as this – the boys have really used the studio to their advantage. The notes John has chosen to juxtapose against Brian’s guitar parts make for a gorgeous combination, and the entire song has a dreamy air to it, before slowly turning more mysterious and fast-paced at the end. You can’t help but grin as ‘Modern Times Rock N Roll’ comes in next, Roger singing away enthusiastically over the speedy riffs, ending in a lengthily delayed exclamation of “rrrrrrrrock and roll!” It suits him perfectly.

Then ‘Son And Daughter’ slams in, and you’re transported back to last week, when you’d listened to the single. It really is delectable on record, grooving enticingly and making you want to get up and sway your hips. When it ends, much to your disappointment, you’re greeted with a song you’ve actually never heard at all, a majestic romp entitled ‘Jesus’ which features biblical lyrics, a somewhat authoritative swagger, and some seriously fast guitar runs from Brian. It’s exciting to hear something brand new, and you can’t deny how much you’re enjoying it, especially the long instrumental section in the middle. Suddenly at it’s end, the album closes with something entitled ‘Seven Seas Of Rhye’ another thing you’re unfamiliar with, but it’s only a short, piano-driven instrumental which fades away quickly, leaving you wanting more.

By the time the needle slips into the record’s silent edge, marking the end of your experience, you’re filled with a muddle of feelings, all more positive than the last; it really is a great record, worthy of so many people’s attention, and knowing that it can now begin to make it’s way into the eyes and ears of the public, you sincerely hope that people will hear it, enjoy it, spread the word about it, and help to give Queen the recognition that they deserve. As you’re sitting there with a contented smile on your face, retrieving the record from the turntable, Brian and Roger file back into the room, looking over their pile of belongings.

“The others are running a bit late,” Roger informs when he sees your questioning look, surprised that they’re still here.

“So,” Brian begins with a warm smile, nodding towards the record player, “what do you think of it?” You rise from your seat, crossing the room to grab him tightly around the torso, pressing your face to him as he returns the hug.

“I love it,” you say earnestly. “I love it, love it, love it! I’m so proud of you all.” You lean up to kiss him on the cheek as he chuckles, and then move away to hug Roger too, not wanting him to be left out.

“Ooh, do I get a kiss as well?” You slap his chest gently and laugh in response, hearing Brian giggle behind you, knowing that he’s not being serious.

“Not unless you’re going to bestow upon me even more of that wonderful knowledge you have about electrons, Roger.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” He screws up his face at the reminder of the moment that you’re determined to never let him forget, and as the room fills with laughter, you give him a peck on the cheek anyway, knowing that Brian won’t mind. At that moment, a car horn beeps rhythmically outside, and Brian and Roger straighten up when they hear it.

“Ah, that’s us.” They immediately jump into action, Roger exiting the flat to greet everyone, and Brian picking up a couple of bags.

“So, you and Mary are coming later?” he asks, and you nod in confirmation.

“Yeah, we’ll only get under your feet if we go with you now,” you reply, knowing that there’s probably not enough room for the two of you anyway. “We’ll try to get there a bit before show time, but if Mary gets held up at work, don’t look for us. We won’t miss the show, I promise.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile, pulling you in for one last hug before he leaves.

“I’m proud of you Brian,” you tell him again, your voice muffled slightly against his shoulder, and you feel his chest tighten slightly as he hums a happy sound in response. As he kisses you goodbye, you feel yourself growing more excited for tonight, knowing what a great album they’re about to promote.

__

“You haven’t?” you almost shriek in dismay as Mary strides quickly alongside you.

“No,” she replies, “Freddie didn’t get a copy of it, and of course, they’ve been too busy today to sort it out.” You gasp in mock horror at the fact that she hasn’t heard the album yet, knowing how great it is.

“You can listen to mine,” you offer. “I’ll give it to you either tonight or tomorrow.” Mary smiles in thanks as the pair of you make your way hurriedly towards the venue, Queen Mary’s College. Having waited for Mary to call and tell you that she’d finished work and was ready to leave, you’d met her at the flat before making your way to Basingstoke together. You’d been worried that you’d miss the start of the show, as it had been quite a way to travel, but luckily, it seems as though you’ll just make it in time. The sound of your collective footsteps pattering along the pavement bounces back to you off the buildings, and as you both turn into the doorway of the venue, you feel your stomach bubble with excitement.

After paying for your tickets and entering the main room, you’re glad to see that the crowd is pretty large, lots of people having turned out to see Queen. You wonder how many of them know about the album, or even have come tonight solely because of it, but before you can voice your thoughts, Mary turns to you while looking at her watch.

“They’ll probably be on any minute,” she says, eyeing you seriously. “We should try to get a good place to see them from.” Nodding, you allow her to lead the way through the bodies, searching out a good vantage point, and smiling at how importantly she seems to view the event; while not always present during Queen’s shows and other meet-ups, due to her position at Biba, she evidently still thinks highly of their efforts, and wants to see them succeed. It’s heartwarming to know that she genuinely loves the band just as you do, and that Freddie has a girlfriend who probably gives him just as much support as you try to give Brian, perhaps even more.

Mary slows down ahead of you, coming to a halt near the wall on the right hand side, and casting around at the people sandwiched into the room, you agree that this is probably the best place for the two of you to slot into. You’re very glad that you hadn’t brought a jacket, as the heat of Summer, combined with the raised temperature of so many bodies in one place, is making the room very hot. You hadn’t even thought to buy a drink, simply focused on getting anywhere that would give you a decent view of the stage, but as Mary glances excitedly at you, all thoughts of drinks are forgotten – you just can’t wait to watch Queen play!

Only a couple of minutes later, the lights go down in the room, rousing a large whoop from the crowd, and your chest clenches in glee as a rhythmic thumping begins to sound over the noise, something you and Mary are only too familiar with – the introduction to ‘Procession’. As the guitars swell towards their climax, the energy in the room slowly heightens, the other audience members around you starting to get excited, and you watch as Queen appear to even louder cheers, taking to the stage and addressing the audience enthusiastically.

As the final tendrils of ‘Procession’ fade away, Brian begins picking out a sequence of notes that leads into the crashing introduction of ‘Father To Son’. It seems as though this pair of songs has become Queen’s new routine for opening their shows, and though neither of them are on their album, it’s still an effective and enticing start, and if they manage to record a second album, you muse, they might feature on that. You enjoy watching the boys in their element, clearly excited to be on stage, and at one point, both you and Mary manage to catch Freddie’s eye by waving as he turns in your direction. He smiles back between vocal lines, seeming pleased to see that you made it in time, and Brian also casts a grin your way, spotting the pair of you. When the song ends, the audience roars in a big cheer, and Freddie struts up to the front of the stage, eyeing them all almost hungrily.

“Good evening, you little devils,” he growls with a theatrical sneer, his dramatics on point, as always. “This is a very special occasion. Our debut album has just come out today, on EMI Records, and we’re here to give you all a little preview! How about that?” The majority of the audience seem surprised to learn of the album, but thanks to a few scattered whoops, you get the idea that there are a few others who already know about it. “This is the first track off the album,” Freddie continues, “and our lead single, released last week. It’s a little number called ‘Keep Yourself Alive’!” A large cheer comes in response, and almost as soon as the guitar begins it’s rhythmic introduction, it seems as though every head in the room begins to nod in time. Freddie procures a tambourine from somewhere, smacking it against his leg wildly, and it only encourages the crowd to join in even more.

You and Mary share pleased grins as you watch the boys perform to their best, as always, Freddie’s commanding presence drawing everybody in, and the well-oiled unison of the band never failing to make every song a delight. ‘Ogre Battle’ and ‘Liar’ are positively spectacular, powerful and satisfying, and ‘Doin’ All Right’ makes your cheeks ache from smiling. When Freddie takes another moment to mention the album, you and Mary cheer loudly, not caring if you’re making a spectacle of yourselves, and Freddie winks at the pair of you.

By the time their usual encore medley of rock and roll songs comes around, you’re damp with sweat, your ears are ringing, and you’re thanking the universe for bestowing this moment upon you; after all the heartbreaking, uncomfortable and saddening things you’ve had to go through recently, being here in the throng of the crowd, watching your best friends do what they do best without a care in the world, is something so precious to you that you couldn’t put a price on it. For once, you aren’t wondering about Harry, missing him, bemoaning the awful things that he did to you, and fearing what the future may hold. Instead, you’re dancing and clapping, unable to stop smiling, and welling up with pride for Queen; although this still isn’t the high-profile, widely-promoted album launch that they’d been promised, you’re still so pleased that they have a crowd like this who want to be here, absorbing every note and beat, and who might go out and buy their album, swayed by the boys’ excellent live show. This could be the start of something wonderful, and you’re so glad that you’re here to be a part of it.

When the boys finally leave the stage, bowing and thanking the audience, you almost don’t want them to stop playing, only consoled by the fact that you can now head backstage and congratulate them all, if you can get in. As the crowd starts to disperse, you and Mary fight against the flow of people heading in the opposite direction, creeping your way towards the band-only area. As you approach it, prepared to have to start blagging your way in with tales of how you know the band, Freddie suddenly appears, peeping out of a door and ushering you towards him as he spots you. The staff members present seem to accept the situation, and the two of you slip in through the doorway before Freddie closes it behind you.

“We’ve got visitors!” Freddie announces loudly, and everyone turns to face you, waving in greeting. You almost burst out laughing as soon as you notice Brian, who’s standing in a corner, not quite finished getting changed, and you’re treated to a nice view of his briefs before he bashfully pulls his trousers up.

“Ooh, I arrived just at the right time!” you sing salaciously as you saunter over to him, and everyone guffaws as he turns a rather adorable shade of puce, zipping his trousers up firmly before attempting to ignore the embarrassing moment by giving you a hug. You giggle against his t-shirt before kissing his cheek with a grin, deciding not to tease him further.

“You were all fantastic,” Mary says, changing the subject. “It was a really wonderful show.”

“You’re not wrong,” you shoot back, looking at all of the boys in turn. “You always play well, but now that you have an album out, it just gives it an extra something. Your gigs aren’t just a one-time bit of fun, now – they’re a constant advertisement for your record!” Everybody seems grateful for your words, beaming and nodding, and there’s a lovely feeling of contentment all around.

“Thank god we haven’t got a show tomorrow,” Freddie remarks, as as he speaks, his voice begins to crack in places, evidently worn out from how raucously he’d been singing. Then his eyebrows arch in realisation. “Oh, god, you haven’t seen the bruise, have you?” Before you can question what this means, he unzips his own trousers, turning to the side and lowering them just enough to reveal an already-forming bruise, darkening his thigh painfully – it looks as though it’s going to be a nasty one.

“Oh no,” Mary gushes in concern, though partly amused. “Is that from the tambourine?”

“Yes! I didn’t even think about bruises – I just started bashing the thing!” Chuckles erupt from everybody as a whole, and as Freddie redresses himself, his teeth visible in a rare uncovered grin, relaxed chatter breaks out, everybody recalling different points of the show and expressing their contentment with how it had gone. Brian, his cheeks now back to their usual colour, closes the gap between you to draw you in close.

“Thanks for being here,” he murmurs quietly, and you hold him closer.

“Of course I’d be here, silly. I’m always here.”

“I’m really glad.” Sensing some vulnerability in him, you stay within his embrace for a while longer, resolving to get back to the party afterwards; Brian has been so vital to you during your struggles, helping you to get through things much better than if you’d been alone, and the fact only makes you feel more strongly that you want to be here for him too, in any way you can. Things have really changed, but although these changes have come about thanks to terrible reasons, you’re now feeling that it doesn’t have to be a bad thing – you have your new home now, with everybody in this room on your side, and watching Queen continue to keep reaching for their goals has made you feel as though there might still be things worth reaching for in your own life, too.


	33. My Very Good Friends And Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having not managed to get a job yet, you're starting to feel rather useless and unsatisfied, and when Queen receive some good news, it makes you feel even worse. However, little do you know that help is just around the corner, and it's from someone you hadn't expected.

It’s strange, sitting here in near-silence; this isn’t the first time you’ve been alone in the flat at Sinclair Road, as Brian and Roger have had to head out for various things many times, Queen related or otherwise. However, so used to the familiar chatter, the frequent boiling of the kettle, and occasional guests, you’re finding the quiet almost eerie now that you’re by yourself. It makes you wish that you were out with the boys, watching their rehearsal with enthusiasm, but wanting to be sensible, you’d declined the invitation; having lived here for what feels like too long without any proper way of contributing, you’ve been searching for jobs for a couple of weeks.

Having decided firmly to avoid biology-related positions, despite the fact that your mother would surely have a breakdown if she found out, you’ve simply been looking for anything that will help you to get by, pay some rent, and feel like less of a freeloader. In theory, you’d thought that this would have been a relatively easy task, but every time you search, another dark cloud forms overhead, each one more gloomy than the last – you just can’t imagine doing any of these jobs. It’s not as though you’re planning on toiling away at whatever place you choose for the rest of your life, as this is only meant to be a stop-gap to keep you going financially, until you can properly get yourself together and decide what you truly want to do in life. However, just looking at each thoroughly mundane and depressing job that crops up is making your optimism shrink.

The silence is broken momentarily as you flick over the page of the newspaper you’re currently poring over, finding a new column of job advertisements, but before you can begin to properly read anything, a new sound reaches your ears; a key turns in the door, followed by a creak as it opens, and your mood brightens a little as Roger and Brian walk in. Regardless of how seriously you feel about getting a job, you can’t deny that you’re thankful for the distraction.

“I think we should go in as soon as we can,” Roger tells Brian enthusiastically, the pair evidently in the middle of a conversation. Brian nods just as fervently.

“Definitely. It’s not come a moment too soon!” The two of them share a grin, seeming rather pleased about something, and continue to chatter as they put their things down and head into the kitchen to make drinks, almost as though they’d forgotten that you were there. Amused and intrigued, you wait for them to return, which doesn’t take long; after a minute, Brian reappears, looking at you with an upbeat smile as he crosses the room, pausing momentarily to slip off his clogs.

“Has something happened?” you quiz, and his smile grows a little wider as he plonks himself down next to you on the sofa, wrapping an arm around you.

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. “How’s the job hunting going?”

“Eh,” you huff unenthusiastically, “could be better. What’s going on?” Judging by the look in his eyes, you feel as though it must something great.

“Trident and EMI gave us the go-ahead to start recording our next album,” he says somewhat victoriously, and the news causes you to break into your own happy smile.

“Really? That’s wonderful!”

“It really is,” Roger quips as he too appears, placing cups of tea on the table before joining the pair of you. “We’ve been dying to get back in there. It feels like forever since last time.” You’re about to point out that it’s not been too long since their first album came out, but then you remember that it had been a long time in the making – they’d started recording it in 1971, finishing last year, and had unfortunately been forced to play the waiting game until EMI had finally got involved to make the release happen. Again reminded of their tribulations, you nod, feeling that it’s no wonder that they’re itching to move forward.

“I think we can do a lot better than the first one, anyway,” Brian adds, and Roger nods in agreement. “We’ve got half of the songs written already, I think.”

“Will you be using some of the newer songs you’ve been playing live,” you ask excitedly, “like Father To Son, and Ogre Battle?”

“We might well do,” Roger muses, “and there’s Procession as well.”

“Oh yeah,” Brian emits, “that’s already recorded. It’d be easy to use that if we wanted.”

“This is really exciting,” you tell them happily, and the big grins they sport suggest that they feel exactly the same.

“We’ve got to make it bigger than last time, though,” Brian continues, his expression turning more serious, and he and Roger eye each other, their thoughts seeming to synchronise. “I know we can create a more polished sound, if we really work at it – hopefully Roy will let us have more to do with the production side of things, too.”

“That’d be good,” Roger replies, looking thoughtful. “We definitely need to do something new, something more fresh. I’ve got that other song I was working on ages ago – that ‘loser’ one. Do you think-“

As the two of them become locked in another animated conversation, you find yourself content to just watch them talk, bouncing ideas back and forth between themselves; it’s really nice to see them both so impassioned about music, something that you miss having with your old bandmates, and considering everything that’s happened recently, you can completely understand their eagerness to get back into the studio. It’s now early August, almost a month since their debut album had finally been released, and to everyone’s disappointment, not a lot has happened. The record sales haven’t exactly been notable, the band have only played a couple of low-key gigs, and it seems as though radio airplay for ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ had been not much more than a dream.

You’ve felt quite awful for them, truth be told, as everybody had alluded to the idea that it had almost been a waste of time, and you’d done your best to console them about it. However, as per usual for the boys, they hadn’t let their feelings of defeat linger for long, picking themselves up and ploughing ahead with their song writing, in the hopes that, given another chance, their music will be able to make a bigger impact. You’ve really come to admire how persistent they are as a group, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer, and watching Brian and Roger plot what they’re going to do next with cheery expressions is very enjoyable.  
Despite this, there is one slightly negative thing that crosses your mind as you listen to them talk – their productive nature is making you feel like even more of a wash-out. The four of them are pushing ahead, ignoring their setbacks and constantly driving toward their goals, whereas you’re still sitting here with no job, and no direction in your life. Feeling like a bit of a failure, you close the newspaper in front of you and cast it aside, nursing your cup of tea despondently – while Queen are barging ahead, you feel as though you’ve come to a standstill.

__

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Brian asks, his brow crinkling slightly in concern. The band are about to head off for their first recording session for the next album, and while their offer for you to accompany them to Trident to watch them is incredibly tempting, you’re still stuck in your rut of feeling like a nobody.

“Yeah,” you reply grudgingly, sighing in conflict. “I’d better get myself sorted. I can’t stand just coasting like this.”

“Alright,” Brian concedes, looking a little worried. “Don’t be too hard on yourself though, my love.” He leans down to kiss your forehead firmly, his curls obscuring your vision for a moment. “I’m not sure what time we’ll be back, but let’s just relax tonight, okay?”

“I’ll look forward to it,” you reply, smiling at his apparently ceaseless care for you. “Good luck. Enjoy yourselves!” You raise your voice, extending your last words to Roger too, and he flashes you a grin as he hoists a bag onto his shoulder.

“We will!” he chirps happily. “See you later!” They head out together, Brian turning to shoot you one last encouraging smile before closing the door behind him, and then once again, you’re alone. That uncomfortable hush falling over the flat again, you feel your loneliness well up; you’ve become so accustomed to having Brian and Roger around you that you’re beginning to feel odd without them. On top of this, your career woes are something that you’d ordinarily share with Harry, and you’re only too aware of how impossible that is by now.

In fact, you realise, as you ponder the situation, that if you and Harry had never fallen out, then you wouldn’t be having career woes at all – you’d still be playing in the band with him, Charlie, Dave and Tom, doing exactly what Queen are doing, pushing towards gaining musical success, and not giving in to your mother’s pleas to go into biology. The two of you had never really intended to follow her requests beyond university, agreeing that as soon as the two of you were free from the trappings of education, you’d go all the way with the band, doing everything in your power to make something big happen. Most importantly, you’d vowed to stick together no matter what, and the reminder of how you’ve lost that support from him is not pleasant.

Trying to lift your sinking mood, you resolve to put it all out of your mind and keep looking for jobs, not wanting to fester in your melancholy. After searching the flat for every newspaper you can find that you haven’t already looked through, you set them down in a pile on the table. However, gazing at their inky pages and struggling to rouse any enthusiasm whatsoever, you feel as though you need something to boost your mood first, even if it’s only by a little. This is the point where you would normally call somebody, particularly Freddie, but of course, that’s not possible right now. Musing for a moment, you realise that out of everybody you know, there’s probably only one person that might be free to talk, assuming that they’re not at work. Mentally crossing your fingers, you abandon the newspapers temporarily to pad across the room, picking up the phone and dialling the number for Holland Road.

“Hello?” A tantalising rush of relief sweeps through you as you hear the voice on the other end of the line, grateful for somebody to talk to.

“Hi Mary, it’s me.”

“Oh, hello!” she emits, evidently surprised at your call.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be in today,” you say, thankful that you’ve been proven wrong.

“Ah, no, it’s my day off work,” she replies. “How are you?”

“Not too bad,” you begin, but as you hear yourself speak and realise how fed up your tone of voice sounds, you decide to just admit the truth. “Actually, I’m at a bit of a loss at the moment.” Mary allows you to offload your worries onto her, and you tell her about your loss of direction and lack of success in finding any jobs that you could reasonably apply for. Just saying it out loud to someone relieves a little pressure, but then she pipes up with something that catches you off guard.

“You know,” she muses, growing quiet for a moment as she thinks, “I might be able to think of something.” You hadn’t expected her to try to come up with any solutions for you, so you’re surprised by the statement.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she continues thoughtfully, “you know I got promoted to manageress at Biba recently, didn’t I?”

“Yes, of course, I remember,” you reply quickly, recalling hearing about it from Freddie and calling to congratulate her.

“I could try to put a good word in for you with the other members of staff,” she says. “We’ve actually been thinking of taking somebody else on.” What she’s said doesn’t quite register at first, and you have to take a moment to replay it in your head.

“You mean there’s a job going at Biba?” you ask eventually.

“Well, we haven’t advertised anything yet,” Mary replies, “but there’s been talk of it, yes. To be honest, it’d save time and effort if someone was recommended before they start promoting a vacancy – we won’t have to bother if they took you on straight away.” Though you understand what she’s saying, you’re struggling to comprehend that fact that she’s actually offering to not only help you find a job opening, but personally talk you up to her superiors in order to help you get ahead of the potential competition.

“Mary,” you emit, a little flabbergasted, “you don’t have to do that for me, you know.”

“No,” she protests, “I think you’d be great at Biba! I’ve seen you in your stage clothes – you have good fashion sense!”

“Do you think so?” you ask, goggling slightly at the wall. “I do really like the Biba fashion, I’ve just never had much money to buy any!” Mary giggles softly before replying.

“No, you should give it a try,” she insists. “Freddie tells me about you going shopping with him. He says you look wonderful in everything.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!” you scoff, breaking into a grin at the mention of Freddie.

“He’s always saying he wants to take you out and dress you up like a doll!” The pair of you burst into laughter, and knowing what Freddie’s like, it sounds about right.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” you continue as you pull yourself together, “but Biba fashion is pretty cool. Do you really think I’d stand a chance at working there?”

“Definitely,” Mary replies, regaining her own composure. “Do you want me to talk to my boss? I might be able to get you an interview, since I’m a bit higher up the ladder than I used to be.” The offer is very generous of her, and that alone makes you feel more fondly for her, grateful for how considerate she’s being.

“As long as it’s not any trouble,” you reply, not wanting her to have to put in a lot of effort on your behalf. “I bet working at Biba is certainly more interesting than most of the rubbish I’ve been looking up.” She giggles again.

“It’s quite fun, actually. You meet a lot of people, and it puts itself across as a luxurious brand, so you get taught to make everything look really glamorous.” Recalling the few times you’ve been to Biba yourself, her description sounds pretty accurate.

“Well, don’t worry if it’s not possible,” you reply, impressing your point again. “I don’t want to make more work for you.”

“Not at all,” she refutes in a cheerful voice, and you can picture her gentle smile as she says so.

“Alright, well, thanks so much, Mary,” you say honestly, feeling touched by her generosity. “There’s no rush on it. Just let me know if anything comes about.”

“I will! It’d be great if we could work together!” The two of you share a chuckle, agreeing on the idea.

“Right,” you emit, “in the meantime, I’m going to go back to boring myself to tears with all these newspapers.”

“Oh god,” she groans through a giggle. “Good luck!” As you bid each other goodbye and hang up the phone, you find yourself feeling thoroughly cheered up – you’d only called Mary for a friendly chat, and now you might have accidentally landed yourself a job interview, completely thanks to her. The idea of trawling through the newspapers doesn’t seem quite as bad now.

__

“What do you think? Is it too much?” You turn to Brian expectantly, and he contemplates you for a moment, his lovely, hazel eyes sweeping you from head to toe.

“No, you look nice,” he replies honestly, and though you appreciate the compliment, it doesn’t seem to put you at ease.

“I just want to get it right,” you fret, looking at yourself again in the mirror; much to your elation, Mary had called you back the day after your original conversation and told you that there was an interview waiting for you at Biba the next day. She’d managed to convince her boss to give you a chance, considering how she’d personally recommended you, and pointed out that if she found you suitable, then there’d be no need for advertisement. You’ve been a jittering ball of activity ever since, attempting to plot your every move, word, and of course, your outfit. Biba is not your ordinary clothing boutique, and you feel the need to come across highly fashionable without trying too hard. That balance, now that you’re in the thick of trying on various sets of clothes, is proving more difficult to strike than you’d originally thought.

“I don’ t know why you’re asking me,” Brian states with a sheepish smile. “You know I’m dreadful with fashion.” The point causes you to break into a grin, endeared by his self-proclaimed uncool nature, and you abandon the mirror for a moment to go over to him, lowering yourself down onto his lap as he sits on the bed.

“I love your clogs,” you reply teasingly, and he giggles before kissing you warmly. “What time are you and Roger leaving?”

“Soon, I imagine,” he muses, and once again, you feel a little pang of jealousy that Queen get to spend another day in the studio. However, thanks to your impending interview, your envy isn’t quite so pronounced – you’ve got your own quest to embark upon today. Both you and Brian turn your heads suddenly as an audible knocking reaches your ears from downstairs, and then you share a knowing glance, realising that it’s probably Mary. After hearing of your uncertainty regarding what to wear for the interview yesterday, she’d offered to come round and help you decide.

“I’d better let you get on,” Brian says somewhat regrettably, looking as though he’d been quite enjoying having you on his knee.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” you promise, leaning in to kiss him again. The both of you linger a little longer than you’d intended, kissing through contented smiles, before accepting that your time has run out for now. Standing and gazing up at him as he follows suit, you contemplate his towering form and relish the fondness you feel for him.

“Good luck with everything,” he says softly, “in case I don’t get another chance to say it before we leave.” You nod in thanks, sharing one last kiss before heading downstairs. When the pair of you arrive in the living room, you see Mary chatting with easily with Roger.

“Hi Mary,” you greet, glad to see her, and she smiles cheerfully.

“We should get ready quickly,” she instructs, “and then we can go over some interview techniques!”

“Good idea,” you agree, and the pair of you flash a grin to Roger and Brian before heading back upstairs into the bedroom. When you set eyes upon the room again, you can’t help but laugh a little at the state of the bed, strewn with various items of discarded clothing, the only clear space being the spot where Brian had been sitting. As you scramble to pick everything up, Mary wastes no time in striding over to the open wardrobe, browsing through the rest of your clothes thoughtfully.

“I know I don’t exactly have the most divine collection,” you begin with a grin, “but there’s probably something we can use. I just want to look like I know my stuff. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, exactly,” Mary replies as she continues to consider each item of clothing she comes across. “We all look a certain way at Biba, so it’d be good if we can find something similar. The owner is quite particular about how her members of staff dress.” Feeling suddenly worried about your entire appearance, you gulp in concern.

“What sort of thing is it?” you ask, and Mary turns away from the wardrobe to regard you, seeming focused on the task at hand.

“She likes the girls to look like the types of people she designs the clothes for,” she informs, “so the styles are usually quite slim-fitting, and she likes you to show off your legs to look tall. We can just focus on that, for now – if you get the job, you’ll be directed on what to wear. You’ll probably get a Biba dress or two to wear in the shop, to advertise the clothes while you work.” Listening to her barrage of information makes you feel a little intimidated, wondering if you’re really skinny and glamorous enough to work in such a place.

“Right,” you sigh, “let’s have a look, then.” The two of you peruse your collection of clothing, which is now beginning to feel more and more drab and boring by the second, with the exception of everything that Freddie has ever convinced you to buy, of course. After some debate, you both settle on an outfit, and then go over your make-up.

“I think this colour will look best,” Mary says, handing you your partially depleted pot of blue eye shadow, something you only tend to wear on stage, or on special occasions, due to it’s vividness. Accepting that she probably knows best, you nod dutifully, setting about putting it on.

“What time is it?” you ask curiously, realising that, thanks to becoming immersed in fashion, you’ve lost track.

“Oh,” Mary emits in a slightly concerned tone after consulting her watch, “we’ve not got a lot of time before we should set off. Here-“ She picks up your blush powder and another brush. “-I can put this on you while you do that.” The two of you giggle at the idea, and you agree, figuring that you do probably need to save a bit of time. You work in tandem, applying the make-up to your face, and feeling as though you haven’t really done anything this silly with her before, you find yourself enjoying the added closeness it brings to your friendship. Once you’re both satisfied, the pair of you leap up and grab your things, getting ready to head out.

“Wait!” you yelp on a sudden, having completely forgotten about one important aspect of your appearance. “What should I do with my hair?” It’s freshly washed, but hanging casually about you, rather unprofessionally.

“Oh, just leave it down,” Mary replies nonchalantly, reaching over to neaten it up a little. “Most of the girls just have it loose like I do.” Taking a moment to consider her own hairstyle, you realise that it is indeed a rather effortless look. Glad that there’s nothing more to do, you slip your feet into your shoes.

“For god’s sake,” you emit, remembering something else. “We didn’t have time to talk about the interview techniques.” Adorning you with suitably appropriate clothing and make-up has taken longer than you’d planned for.

“Let’s do it on the bus,” she suggests with a smile. “In fact, let’s start right now.” With that, feeling a little nervous, but also certain that you’re in good hands, you follow Mary as she begins to instruct you.

__

“Just keep walking,” Mary mutters under her breath, linking her arm with yours as the pair of you stride quickly out of the hulking building that houses Biba. Bursting out into the street, neither of you say a word as you press on urgently, heading around the corner as you fight to keep your poker face in place. It’s only once you’re safely around the corner that you allow it to slip, and Mary laughs jubilantly as you break into a massive grin, raising your fists into the air – you got the job.

The interview had been rather intense, and though you’d done the best you could, with encouragement and support from Mary, you hadn’t been sure if you’d come across well enough to be hired. When you’d been told of your success, you’d had to practically force yourself not to jump out of your seat with glee, and for the last five minutes, you and Mary have been fighting to put on calm exteriors in front of the other Biba staff, although you know that Mary’s giddiness was almost solely due to how amusing your own excitement must have looked. Now that you’re outside, you can’t help but feel a large sense of relief, a waterfall of pent-up tension rushing out of you; you never imagined that you’d be considered glamorous enough to become a Biba girl like Mary, and not only that, but you won’t have to worry about money for the time being, once you get your first wage. It’s not exactly a career for life, but it’s a good start.

“I can’t wait to tell Brian and Roger,” you gush, grinning as you and Mary begin to walk towards the bus stop in unison, seeming to read each other’s minds. “I’ve felt so cheeky, just living there with no way to contribute. I can start paying some rent now.”

“Oh, I’m sure they haven’t minded,” she replies with certainty, “especially not Brian.” You return her smile, but as she mentions Brian’s name, you’re reminded of a potentially awkward fact that you’d learnt a while ago – Mary and Brian used to be a couple. You hadn’t felt any initial worry about it when she’d brought it up, but considering that you’re now living with him, and quite serious about your relationship, you can’t help but wonder if Mary might find it a bit strange or uncomfortable to watch, especially if the two of you are now going to be working together – you’d hate to make her feel awkward.

“It’s not too weird, is it-“ you begin slowly, feeling a little anxious and hoping that she’ll be honest with you. “-that I’m with Brian?” Glancing at you with a surprised expression, she’s reassuringly quick to answer.

“No, of course not. Is something bothering you?”

“No,” you reply, feeling your worries wash away as you take in her warm yet concerned gaze. “I just don’t want to make you feel awkward. We’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other now, and I’d hate to make things weird by talking about Brian.” The way Mary smiles at you openly speaks volumes.

“Don’t be silly,” she chides playfully, linking your arm again. “I’m glad that you and Brian found each other, and besides – I’ve got my hands more than full with Freddie!” Knowing exactly how dramatic and demanding he can be, the pair of you burst into giggles, no more needing to be said. Thankfully, your wait at the bus stop isn’t too long, and once it arrives, you climb on, sitting down to enjoy the short journey back to Sinclair Road.

“By the way,” Mary pipes up, once the bus has begun to rumble down the road, “don’t worry about learning what to do on your first day. It’ll probably seem a bit overwhelming, but I’ll tell you as much as I can in advance, so that you’ve got a bit of a head start. It’ll be easy once you’re used to it.” Sharing her smile, it hits you just how kind she really is, going further than you’d expected to help you get the job and prepare for your induction, and your chest swells with appreciation – she’s a genuinely lovely person.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve all this,” you reply with a grin, “but honestly, thanks, Mary. I’d still be sitting at home, staring at newspapers and feeling dead sorry for myself, if it wasn’t for you.” Coming over slightly bashful, she shakes her head to indicate that she doesn’t think too much of her efforts, and in a rather cute way, it reminds you momentarily of Freddie.

Before long, you’re turning the key in the door of Sinclair Road, and you let Mary in, insisting on making her a drink, the least you can do to thank her again for everything she’s done. While the pair of you are relaxing and chatting, Mary starting to fill you in on a few tips for working at Biba, the door opens again, revealing Brian and Roger. They seem happy to see you both as they discard their things onto the floor, and flashing a smile at you, Mary turns to them.

“You boys might have the most fashionable flat on the street,” she states, and as she meets your eyes again, you can’t help but grin, picking up on where she’s going and adding your own remark.

“Yes – you’re in the company of two Biba girls, don’t you know?” Brian and Roger contemplate your antics for a moment, before realising what you’re saying, their faces growing sunny and excited.

“You got it, then?” Roger asks, and as you and Mary nod happily, he makes his way around the table to give you a warm hug. “Nice job!” When he straightens up again, allowing the view of the room to return to you, you’re immediately met with the sight of Brian right behind him, practically waiting to pounce on you. Giggling, you rush to meet him as he pulls you in tightly, kissing your shoulder where his head rests against you.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs warmly, and the tone of his voice alone causes a shiver of joy to run through you. “Well done.” As he pulls away and maintains a strong eye contact, you get the feeling that he wants to be more intimate with you, but Roger and Mary’s presence cuts it short. You smile at him in adoration, knowing that there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

“So,” you chirp, turning your attention back to everybody equally, “how did it go at the studio? Have you got much recorded yet?”

“Not a terrible amount,” Roger replies, “but it’s early days, yet. We’re just basically outlining things at the moment, but I think we’ll start properly putting things down soon, don’t you?” He aims his last sentence at Brian, who nods in agreement.

“I’d say so. There are a few songs that aren’t finished yet, so they’ll probably be in something of a skeletal form for a bit, while we get the more solidified songs done. It’s looking good, though.”

“Pleased to hear it,” you say earnestly, smiling at them both, and then before anyone else can speak, the phone rings. Roger picks it up, as he’s nearest to it, and you go to reclaim your seat on the sofa and finish your cup of tea. However, your behind barely has a chance to touch the seat before Roger calls your name, summoning you to the phone.

“It’s Freddie,” he informs as you make your way over, and somewhat surprised, you take the receiver from him, realising from Roger and Brian’s presence that he must also have just gotten home from the studio.

“Freddie!”

“Hello, darling,” he croons in his familiar, debonair tone. “Now, then – have you still got my Mary? I’d like her back, if you wouldn’t mind!” Giggles bubble up through your chest at his words. “But more importantly,” he continues, “has it been a success? Are you a pair of dashing Biba girls, ready to dress the world?”

“We are,” you reply jovially, “and I want to start with you!”

“Oh, wonderful, my dear!” he sings happily in response, seeming genuinely glad that you got the job. “Oh yes, my two favourite girls, setting the trends in one of the most fashionable places in London – I love it!” Your cheeks begin to ache from the amount of smiling you’re doing, always feeling flattered whenever Freddie refers to you as his ‘great friend’ or his ‘sweet pea’, or anything at all that suggests that he truly considers you among his closest friends.

“Thanks, Freddie,” you say at last, wrestling your beam back under control, “I’ll let Mary know that you’re waiting for her.”

“Alright, sweetie – talk again soon!” After a giggly goodbye, you hang up the phone and head back over to the sofa, squashing in between Brian and Roger, while Mary sits opposite.

“Somebody’s missing his girlfriend,” you quip, raising your eyebrows at Mary, and her shoulders shake slightly as she laughs.

“I’ll set off soon. I’ll just finish my drink.” Relaxing into your seat and looking around at everyone fondly, you’re reminded of your earlier train of thought, glad that you’re going to be able to start paying your way.

“I just wanted to say thanks, by the way,” you tell Brian and Roger. “I haven’t been able to give you any money yet, even though I’ve been here a while. As soon as I get my first payment, I’m giving you at least half of it.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Roger replies with a carefree grin. “We’ll sort something out. It’s fine, anyway – we’re glad you’re here.” He glances at Brian briefly, and as you turn to look at him, he nods with a smile.

“Yeah, we knew you wouldn’t just sit around,” he says. “but even still, you needed to get out of that house. I hope you’re feeling better about things now that you’re here.” He reaches over and takes your hand as he says this, wrapping his long fingers around yours. Touched by his concern, and knowing that you really do feel more optimistic, thanks to Roger and Brian welcoming you into their flat with open arms, as well as Mary’s strong support in helping you get a job, you find yourself gazing at everyone with a contented smile.

“Definitely,” you reply, feeling grateful for everybody’s friendship and care. “Things are much better now.” The four of you share a grin, enjoying a peaceful moment of unity, before relaxing to sip your drinks and lean back in your seats. It’s such a lovely moment that it’s a shame when Roger ruins it, although funny, you have to admit.

“Anyway,” he chimes in, “we can’t say that you’ve been totally selfish. You must have paid Brian the rent about five times over in sex!”

“ROGER!”


End file.
